Poetry of Park
Andrew Park
born 1807, died 1863
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Hurra For The Highlands
Hurra! for the Highlands! she stern Scottish Highlands;
The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free,
Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast,
Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.
'Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze,
As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light;
And 'tis there the bold fisherman bounds o'er the seas,
In his fleet, tiny bark through the perilous night.
Then hurra! for the Higlands! the stern Scottish Highlands;
The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free,
Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast,
Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.
'Tis the land of deep shadow, of sunshine, and shower,
Where the hurricane revels in madness on high;
For there it has might that can war with its power,
In the wild dizzy cliffs that are cleaving the sky.
Then hurra! for the Higlands! the stern Scottish Highlands;
The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free,
Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast,
Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.
I have trod merry England, and dwelt on its charms;
I have wandered through Erin, that gem of the sea;
But the Highlands alone the true Scottish heart warms,
For her heather is blooming, her eagles are free.
Then hurra! for the Higlands! the stern Scottish Highlands;
The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free,
Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast,
Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.
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