Robert Tannahill (1774–1810)

FAR lone amang the Highland-hills,

’Midst Nature’s wildest grandeur,

By rocky dens, and woody glens,

With weary steps I wander.

The langsome way, the darksome day,

The mountain mist sae rainy,

Are nought to me when gaun to thee,

Sweet lass o’ Arranteenie.

Yon mossy rosebud down the howe,

Just opening fresh and bonny,

Blinks sweetly ’neath the hazel bough,

And ’s scarcely seen by ony;

Sae sweet amidst her native hills,

Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,

Mair fair and gay than rosy May

The flower o’ Arranteenie.

Now, from the mountain’s lofty brow,

I view the distant ocean,

There Av’rice guides the bounding prow

Ambition courts promotion:—

Let Fortune pour her golden store,

Her laurell’d favours many;

Give me but this, my soul’s first wish,

The lass o’ Arranteenie.