The Banks Of Fleet

I sing the bonny banks o Fleet,
Where Nature spreads her various treasure;
Frae fruits and flowers of every hue,
To berries blae, and craps o heather.
Thy peebled shores and sea-girt isles,
Thy far-famed woods and views sae mony;
Thy hills and towers where simmer smiles,
Thy strappin lads, and lasses bonny.

Thy winding banks and flowery dells,
With bloomin fields around in order;
Where commerce spreads her flowin sails,
Auld Card’ness towers o’erlook thy border.
Upon thy banks a borough stands,
Sae feat and healthy, few’s completer;
If search through Scotia’s southern strands,
Nane’s shieled sae biel, nor shaws aught sweeter.

Carstramon waves his leafy locks,
Amidst the meads where flowers are springing;
And shields wi woods his furrowed rocks,
Where lightsome birds are blythly singing.
The Ruscoe ruins, nodding gray,
Where Gordons gay ance blythely ranted ;
And wild woods spreading o’er the brae,
By nature’s ruleless hand been planted.

At distance Cairnsmuir rears his form,
The hoary snaw his haffets wrappin ;
His dark brows brave the wintry storm —
A blue-mist bonnet co’ers his tappin.
Fain would I sing each noble name,
Where kindness blends wi wealth her traces;
But deeds surpass the poet’s pen,
As native smiles do borrowed graces.

Farewell, ye bonny banks o’ Fleet,
Where nature spreads out a her treasure ;
Frae fruits and flowers o every hue,
To berries blae, and craps o’ heather.