Their Groves O' Sweet Myrtle

1.
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' the 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 among the wild flowers,
A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.
2.
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 of 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.

Their Groves Of Sweet Myrtle


Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume!
Far dearer to me yonder lone glen of green brackan (fern),
With the stream stealing under the long, yellow broom;
Far dearer to me are yondr humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and wild daisy lurk lowly, unseen;
For there, lightly tripping among the wild flowers,
Listening to the linnet, often wanders my Jean.

Though rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys,
And cold Caledonia's blast on the wave,
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they? - The haunt of the tyrant and slave!
The slave's spicy forests and gold-bubbling fountains
The brave Caledonian views with disdain:
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save Love's willing fetters - the chains of his Jean.