Chorus Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Tell the news in brugh and glen,

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,

Farewell! Farewell! the voice you… Has left its last soft tone with y… Its next must join the seaward che… And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could…

“Have, then, thy wish!”—he whistle… And he was answer’d from the hill; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath,

The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song, The hills have evening’s deepest g… Yet Leonard tarries long. Now all whom varied toil and care

TO mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings; The genial call dead Nature hears… And in her glory reappears. But oh, my Country’s wintry state

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd… In war, he mounts the warrior’€™s… In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, th…

Introduction. Lives there a strain, whose sounds… May rise distinguished o’er the di… Or died it with yon Master of the… Who sung beleaguered Ilion’s evil…

The scenes are desert now, and bar… Where flourished once a forest fai… When these waste glens with copse… And peopled with the hart and hind… Yon thorn-perchance whose prickly…

MacLeod’s wizard flag from the gr… The rowers are seated, unmoor’d ar… Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clan… As Mackrimmon sings, ‘Farewell to… Farewell to each cliff, on which b…

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I’ll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride: And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

O, Brignall banks are wild and fa… And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there, Would grace a summer queen: And as I rode by Dalton Hall,

Harp of the North, farewell! The… On purple peaks a deeper shade des… In twilight copse the glow-worm li… The deer, half-seen, are to the co… Resume thy wizard elm! the fountai…

The Abbot on the threshold stood, And in his hand the holy rood: Then, cloaking hate with fiery zea… Proud Lorn first answered the app… ‘Thou comest, O holy man,