Lyrics - The Humors Of The Glen by Burns Robert

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[
HUMOFGLNplay.exe
HUMOFGLNARB===
DOCUMENT
BOUNDARY===

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