Garryhorn

"Gin ye wad gang, lassie, to Garryhorn,

Ye might be happy, I ween;

Albeit the cuckoo was never heard there,

And a swallow there never was seen.

While cushats coo round the mill of Glenlee,

And little birds sing on the thorn;

Ye might hear the bonnie heather-bleat croak

In the wilds of Garryhorn.

'Tis bonnie to see at the Garryhorn

Kids skipping the highest rock,

And, wrapt in his plaid at midsummer day,

The moorman tending his flock.

The reaper seldom his sickle whets there,

To gather in standing corn;

But many a sheep is to shear and smear

In the bughts of Garryhorn.

There are hams on the banks at Garryhorn

Of braxy, and eke a store

Of cakes in the kist, and peats in the neuk,

To put aye the winter o'er.

There is aye a clog for the fire at Yule,

With a browst for New-year's morn;

And gin ye gang up ye may sit like a queen

In the chamber at Garryhorn.

And when ye are lady of Garryhorn,

Ye shall ride to the kirk with me;

Although my mither should skelp through the mire,

With her coats kilted up to the knee.

I woo not for siller, my bonnie May,

Sae dinna my offer scorn;

'No! but ye maun speer at my minny,' quo' she,

Ere I gang to Garryhorn.'"