Fruit of the Highlands

Oh crooked rock, oh rugged mountainside,

Oh misty dew of the distant pasture,

Behind mossy castles of stone you hide,

Seducing the coldest heart in rapture

Longing for your tantalizing embrace,

I seek the clear scent of damp meadow flowers,

To free my mind in your majestic grace,

I pine for your lulling morning showers

In your beauteous glens I find solace,

In thistle creeping upon the loch shores,

The bubbling brook’s symphony soothes us,

As we dwell on an ancient land of moors

Scotland, oh Scotland, my far away home, Of mystery beauty and myths unknown.