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robert burns - the humors of the glen lyrics

the humors of the glen
(robert burns)
their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume,
far dearer to me yon lone glen o’green breckan
wi’ th’burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom:
far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen;
for there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
a listening the linnet, oft wanders my jean.
tho’ rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies,
and cauld, caledonia’s blast on the wave;
their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
what are they ? the haunt o’the tyrant and slave.
the slave’s spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
the brave caledonian views wi’disdain;
he wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
save love’s willing fetters, the chains o’his jean.
tune:humors of the glen (496)
filename[ humofgln
play.exe humofgln
arb
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- robert burns lyrics

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