There's meadows in Lanark and mountains in Skye,|
And pastures in Hielands and Lowlands forbye;
But there's nae greater luck that the heart could desire
Than to herd the fine cattle in bonnie Strathyre.
2. O' it's up in the morn and awa' to the hill,
3. Then there's mirth in the sheiling and love in my breast,
4. Her lips are like rowans in ripe simmer seen,|
And mild as the starlicht the glint o' her e'en;
Far sweeter her breath than the scent o' the briar,
And her voice is sweet music in bonnie Strathyre.
5. Set Flora by Colin, and Maggie by me,
6. Though some in the touns o' the Lowlands seek fame,
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