| Away ye grey landscapes, ye gardens o' roses
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| In you let the minions of luxury rove
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| And restore me the rocks where the snowflake reposes
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| If still they are sacred to freedom and love
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| Brave Caledonia, dear are thy mountains
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| Round their white summits though elements war
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| Though cataracts roar 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains
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| I sigh for the valley o' dark Lochnagar
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| Ah! |
| there my young footsteps in infancy wandered
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| My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid
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| On chieftains departed my memory lingered
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| As daily I strayed through the pine-covered glade
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| I sought not my home till the day’s dying glory
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| Gave place to the rays o' the bright polar star
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| My fancy was cheered by the bold martial story
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| As told by the sons o' dark Lochnagar
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| Years have rolled on, Lochnagar, since I left you
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| Years must roll on ere I see you again
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| Though Nature of verdure and flowers bereft you
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| Yet still art thou dearer than Albion’s plain
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| England! |
| thy beauties are tame and domestic
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| To one who has roved on the mountains afar
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| Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic
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| The steep frowning glories o' wild Lochnagar
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| Brave Caledonia, dear are thy mountains
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| I sigh for the valley o' dark Lochnagar
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| Ill-starred now the brave, did no vision foreboding
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| Tell you that fate had forsaken our cause?
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| Yet were you destined to die at Culloden
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| Though victory crowned not your fall with applause
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| Yet were you happy in death’s earthly slumber
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| To sleep wi' your clan in the caves of Braemar
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| The pibroch resounds to the piper’s loud number
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| Your deeds to the echoes of wild Lochnagar
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| Brave Caledonia, dear are thy mountains
|
| I sigh for the valley o' dark Lochnagar |