The Humors Of The Glen Lyrics

The Humors Of The Glen lyrics

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
===DOCUMENT
BOUNDARY===