Tha’ first glimpse intae th’ valley o’ giants,
O’ th’ universe found on a blade o’ grass,
Tis th’ Muses o’ th’ Lower World, an’ their singings,
inviting yee tae meet th’ basalt teeth
on th’ shores o’ th’ land called Sorrows.
Th’ homeland in th’ glen
where once a wee child played,
where thy fathers’ generations
toiled an’ now sleep,
an’ doun in th’ valley th’ cattle are lowin
an th’ ewe lambs huddle fur their heat.
Thare below th’ cataracts an th’ highland peaks
Th’ bonny brook flows sweet an clean.
a better place nah man has known,
nah better place indeed,
than th’ hearth an walls
o’ mother’s home.
Thare be th’ homeland, but nah fo’ thee,
nah fur th’ mariner’s son.
denied tae thee th’ blue skies
an th’ fields o’ green,
th’ young’uns, gurglin an giggling,
a warm hearth an a bed tae dream on.
That is nae th’ fate fur th’ hund o’ th’ sea.
Nah fame nah fortune is in thy stars.
Nah true love tae comfort thy night.
Thy fate, by Destiny’s lead
Is tae wash upon th’ shore
Where th’ sirens sing their wicked call.
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