This text comes from The Scottish Minstrel (First Series), a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers,
His pastures of perfume and rose-covered dells;
While humbly I sing of those wild little flowers,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Wave, wave your dark plumes, ye proud sons of the mountain,
For brave is the chieftain your prowess who quells,
And dreadful your wrath as the foam-flashing fountain
That calms its wild waves 'mid the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Sublime are your hills when the young day is beaming,
And green are your groves with their cool crystal wells,
And bright are your broadswords like morning dew gleaming,
On blue bells of Scotland, on Scottish blue bells.
Awake! ye light fairies that trip o'er the heather,
Ye mermaids arise from your coralline cells,
Come forth with your chorus all chanting together—
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.