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Let us go, lassie, go,
Tae the braes o Balquhither,
Whar the blaeberries grow
Mang the bonnie Hielan Heather;
Whar the deer and the rae,
Lichtly bounding taegither,
Sport the lang simmer day
On the braes o Balquhither.
I will twine thee a bow'r,
By the clear siller fountain,
And I'll cover it o'er
Wi the flowers o the mountain;
I will range thro the wilds,
And the deep glens sae dreary,
An return wi their spoils,
Tae the bow'r o my deary.
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Whan the rude wintry win
Idly raves roun our dwellin,
And the roar o the linn
On the nicht breeze is swellin'
So merrily we'll sing,
As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear shielin ring
Wi the licht liltin chorus.
Now the simmer is in prime,
Wi the flowers richly bloomin,
Wi the wild mountain thyme
A the moorlan's perfumin;
Tae our dear native scenes
Let us journey taegither,
Whar glad innocence reigns,
Mang the braes o Balquhither.
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