Today's post brings the series to an end

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Bonnie Scotland I adore thee

Bonnie Scotland I adore thee, 

Now I wander gladly o'er thee, 

Thy enchantment will restore me, 

Bonnie, Bonnie Scotland.

Mid the rays of summer weather, 

Sweetly blooms thy mountain heather, 

Love and beauty sport together, 

Bonnie, Bonnie Scotland.

Bonnie Scotland, land of grandeur, 

Where the sparkling streams meander, 

Here will I delight to wander, 

Bonnie, Bonnie Scotland.

Thou art dearest to me ever, 

From my bosom banish'd never, 

Ne'er again we hope to sever, 

Bonnie, Bonnie Scotland.

PLUS THE BONUS

Eilean Donan Castle

-o0o-

Sing Me a Song of Bonnie Scotland
comes to an end on Friday
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Broom of Cowdenknowes

How blithe each morn was I tae see 

My lass came o'er the hill. 

She skipped the burn and ran tae me, 

I met her with good will.

O the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom 

The broom o' the cowdenknowes. 

Fain would I be in the north country 

Herding her father's ewes.

We neither herded ewes nor lamb 

While the flock near us lay. 

She gathered in the sheep at night 

And cheered me all the day.

Hard fate that I should banished be 

Gone way o'er hill and moor, 

Because I loved the fairest lass 

That ever yet was born.

Adieu, ye cowdenknowes, adieu. 

Farewell all pleasures there 

To wander by her side again 

Is all I crave or care.

PLUS THE BONUS

-o0o-

The Birks of Aberfeldie

Words by Robert Burns

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 

Will ye go, will ye go, 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldie?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 

And o'er the crystal streamlet plays; 

Come, let us spend the lightsome days, 

In the birks of Aberfeldie!

The little birdies blithely sing, 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing; 

Or lightly flit on wanton wing 

In the birks of Aberfeldie!

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 

The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa's, 

O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 

The birks of Aberfeldie.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 

White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 

And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 

The birks of Aberfeldie.

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, 

They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me; 

Supremely blest wi' love and thee 

In the birks of Aberfeldie.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 

Will ye go, will ye go, 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldie?

PLUS THE BONUS

-o0o-

Rothesay Bay

Fu' yellow lie the cornrigs, fat down the braid hillside; 

It is the brawest har'st field, alang the shores o' Clyde, 

And I'm a puir har'st lassie wha stands the lee lang day - 

Amang the cornrigs of Ardbeg, aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

O I had ance a true love, now I hae nane ava; 

And I had three braw brithers, but I hae *tint them a'. 

My faither and my mither sleep i' the +mools this day - 

I sit my lane amang the rigs, aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

It's a bonnie bay at morning, and bonnier at noon, 

But bonniest when the sun draps and red comes up the moon. 

When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbraes and Arran peaks are gray, 

And the great black hills, like sleeping kings, sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay.

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom, and wee tear blin's my e'e, 

And I think of that far countrie wha I wad like to be. 

But I rise content i' the morning to wark while I may - 

I' the yellow har'st field of Ardbeg, aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

*lost

+earth

PLUS THE BONUS

-o0o-

Be Kind tae Auld Grannie

Words by Archibald Mackay

Be kind tae auld grannie, for noo she is frail, 

As a time shatter'd tree bending low in the gale. 

When ye were bairnies tott, totting about, 

She watch'd ye when in, and she watched ye when out; 

And aye when ye chanc'd in your daffin and fun, 

To dunt your wee head on the cauld stanney grun', 

She lifted ye up and she kiss'd ye fu' fain, 

Till a' your bit cares were forgotten again. 

Then be kind to auld grannie, for noo she is frail, 

As a time shatter'd tree bending low in the gale.

When first in your breasts rose that feeling divine, 

That's wak'd by the tales and the sangs o' lang syne, 

Wi' auld-warld cracks she would pleasure inspire, 

In the lang winter nights as she sat by the fire; 

Or melt your young hearts wi' some sweet Scottish lay, 

Like "Flow'rs o' the Forest" or "Auld Robbie Gray"; 

Though eerie the win' blew around our bit cot, 

Grim winter and a' its wild blasts were forgot; 

Then be kind tae auld grannie, for noo she is frail, 

As a time shatter'd tree bending low in the gale.

And mind though the blythe day o' youth is noo yours, 

Time will wither its joys, as wild winter the flow'rs; 

And your step that's noo licht as the bound o' the roe, 

Wi' cheerless auld age may be feeble and slow; 

And the frien's o' your youth to the grave may be gane, 

And ye on its brink may be tott'ring alane; 

Oh, think how consoling some frien' would be then, 

When the gloaming o' life comes like mist o'er the glen; 

Then be kind tae auld grannie, for noo she is frail, 

As a time shatter'd tree bending low in the gale.

PLUS THE BONUS

This is the small island of St. Kilda.

The entire population of the island was evacuated in 1930.

-o=0=o-

Caller Herrin'
Words by Lady Nairne

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? 
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; 
Wha'll buy my caller herrin', 
New drawn frae the Forth?

When ye were sleepin' on your pillows, 
Dream'd ye aught o' our puir fellows, 
Darkling as they fac'd the billows, 
A' to fill the woven willows? 

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? 
They're no brought here without brave darin'; 
Buy my caller herrin', 
Haul'd through wind and rain.

WhaIl buy my caller herrin'? 
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin' 
Wives and mithers, maist despairin', 
Ca' them lives o' men.

When the creel o' herrin' passes, 
Ladies-clad in silks and laces, 
Gather in their braw pelisses, 
Cast their heads and screw their faces,

Caller herrin's no got lightlie: 
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie; 
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', flingin', 
*Gow had set you a' a-singing

Neebour wives, now tent my tellin'; 
When the bonnie fish ye're sellin', 
At ae word be in yere dealin' - 
Truth will stand when a' thin's failin',

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? 
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; 
Wha'll buy my caller herrin', 
New drawn frae the Forth?

*Neil Gow, the fiddle player

-o0o-

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes
(call the ewes to the hills)
Words by Robert Burns

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 

Ca' them where the heather grows, 

Ca' them where the burnie rowes, 

My bonnie dearie.

Hark, the mavis e'ening sang 

Sounding Clouden's woods amang 

Then a-faulding let us gang. 

My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 

Thro the hazels, spreading wide 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers 

Where, at moonshine's midnight hours, 

O'er the dewy bending flowers 

Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear 

Thou'rt to Love and Heav'n sae dear 

Nocht of ill may come thee near, 

My bonnie dearie.

PLUS THE BONUS

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