OUR AIN FIRESIDE. From Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of ancient Scottish songs. My country, o'er thy mountains wild Her ain fireside, my friends, Her ain fireside; May ne'er a tyrant's ruthless arm The poison'd shafts that malice throws While honest worth an' cheerfu' mirth Sit round the fireside. Our ain fireside, my friends, Our ain fireside; The warmest glow o' friendship's flame On human worth by length of purse The heart to share the world's care Aye heats the fireside. Our ain fireside, my friends, Our ain fireside; The sterling value o' the heart Through rocks and sands to distant lands The sailor wanders wide, In hopes to shield his crazy eild By couthy fireside. The couthy fireside, my friends, The couthy fireside; Heaven send the lyart pow o' age A couthy fireside. "Tis Heaven that nerves the soldier's arm The battle's heat to bide; He boldly dares the fiercest foe To shield his fireside. His ain fireside, my friends, His country's fireside; Would ye but warm a coward's heart?— Insult his fireside. Gi'e luxury her painted domes, Her palaces gi'e pride; But be my lot a snug warm cot And canty fireside. A canty fireside, my friends, Be aye my lot a snug warm cot When bairnies brattlin round our knees What joy heaves up a parent's heart To see his fireside! To see his fireside, my friends, His ain fireside; May Heaven protect the rising sprouts Misfortune dour, wi' cauldrife stour, A neighbour may betide; 'Twill edge a bit and lit him sit Just next the fireside. Our ain fireside, my friends, Our ain fireside; May ne'er a cauld nor hungry heart And, oh, may He whose powerful arm Wi' health and wealth and length o' days Our ain firesides, my friends, Our ain firesides; The choicest blessings Heaven bestows ACROSS the riggs we'll wander The new-mawn hay amang, As lads and lasses trip alang It is sae sweetly scented, The heart is dowie can be cauld Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by, Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass |