Classic Poem

Tho' cauld and drear our muirland hame
Amang the wreaths o' snaw,
Yet love here lowes wi' purer flame
Than lights the lordly ha';
For ilka shepherd's chequer'd plaid
Has room enough for twa,
And coshly shields his mountain maid
Frae a' the blasts that blaw.
Then hey the plaid! the grey hill plaid,
That haps the heart sae true;
Dear, dear to every mountain maid,
Are plaid an' bonnet blue.

What tho' we're few upon the muir,
We lo'e each other mair,
And to the weary wanderin' puir
We've comfort aye to spare.

The heart that feels for ither's woes
Can ne'er keep love awa';
And twa young hearts, when beating close,
Can never lang be twa.
Then hey the plaid! the grey hill plaid,
That haps the heart sae true;
Dear, dear to every mountain maid,
Are plaid an' bonnet blue.