O mountain wild, on thee I gaze,
Tho' clouds and storms upon thee lie;
For gleams o' sunshine break on thee,
Like the smile and tear in beauty's eye
O mountain wild, when setting beams
Shoot frae yonder canopy,
How glowing is thy lofty brow,
Clad in the evening's golden sky.

Thro' heath'ry braes thy shepherds stray,
And tales of love and sorrow tell,
Of lady's bower and baron's ha',
The grey stane where the martyr fell,
Who has not felt this witching charm,
Entwin'd around each Scottish scene,
When wand'ring thro' her bonnie braes,
Or musing by her past'ral stream?

O land of song and minstrel lay,
Cauld and dead the heart maun be,
That leaves thy wild, romantic shore,
And ne'er a tear-drap in his e'e.
O land beloved, yon whitening sail
Owre soon will shroud me from thy view;
My sighs will mingle wi' the gale
That wafts me frae thy mountains blue.