Page:Highland laddie (3).pdf/3

 And the spirit of a Highland chief should glister in his eye. The pipes should play a cheerful strain, the banners round him fly, And for his king and country with pleasure he will die.

But I hope yet to see him in Scotlands bonny bounds, But I hope yet to see him, 8c. His native land of liberty will nurse his glorious wounds. While wide thro' all the Highland hills his warlike name resounds.

The weary pund, the weary pund, The weary pund a' tow; I think my wife will end her life, Before she spin her tow. I bought my wife a stane o' lint, As good as e'er did grow ; And a' that she has made o' that, Is we poor pund o' tow. The weary pund, the weary pund, The weary pund o' tow; I think my wife will end her life, Before she spin her tow.

There sat a bottle in the bole, Beyond the ingle low,