a-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my jean.

tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys,

and cauld caledonia's blast on the wave;

their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,

what are they?—the haunt of the tyrant and slave.

the slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,

the brave caledonian views wi' disdain;

he wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,

save love's willing fetters—the chains of his jean.