Robert Tannahill

The Lass o' Arranteenie

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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 rose-bud down the howe,
Just op'ning 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 flow'r 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 laurel'd favours many;
Give me but this, my soul's first wish,
The lass a' Arranteenie.

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Robert Tannahill