The Humors Of The Glen Lyrics - 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[ HUMOFGLN 

play.exe HUMOFGLN 

ARB 

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