''Shepherd lad, thinly clad, leave these bleak mountains,
Fly to the town and its pleasures with me;
There lofty buildings and grandeur surround us,
There gay--deck'd gentle--folk proud thou wilt see:
What are thy comforts, where tempests loud howling,
Threaten thy thin flocks that shelter have none?
Where is thy dwelling, boy? house is not near us;
Leave these wilds, shepherd lad, with me begone!''

''Traveller, weel clad, ye canna entice me;
Thir mountains o' hether to me are sae dear;
I heed na the snell blast that maks ye aw tremble;
Nae grandeur I covet, nae poverty fear:
In you clay built cottage, sits Maggy, my mither,
A twinin' grey plaidin' for faither and I;
Our coarse fare is wholesome--we ay rest contented--
What mair can the walth o' the proud city buy?''

''Shepherd lad, nature's child, quit not thy mountains;
Woe be to him who would lure thee from home!
The flocks rejoice at thy voice--thou art contented--
In vain to proud cities for this man may roam:
Rosy health paints thy cheek--hardy art thou and free,
No lux'ry tempts thee, nor trinkets of pride;
Love of fond parents and home fills that bare breast;
And, oh! may simplicity still be thy guide!''

''Traveller, gentle, creep into yon smoky hut,
Taste our milk, oat--cake, and cleanly Scotch fare;
Mither's ay glad when she welcomes a stranger;
A drap o' her whiskey she's ay proud to spare.--
Tweed! guid dog! hie away! lammies ill bear the blast,
Up Craigenyelder, and stormy Drumlock!--
Health on your journey, Sir! Guidness watch o'er ye!
Tho' wild are thir grey hills, they're a'dear to Jock!''