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She's a bonny of a
lassie,
With her love I am consumed,
She is standing in the valley,
Where the purple heather blooms.
I can see her from
the mountain,
As I'm marching off to war,
For the bagpipes they are playing,
Is a sound I can't ignore.
I am off to do my
duty,
Though I really want to stay,
But my country says it needs me,
So I have to go away.
Will she be there on
the morrow,
When from battles I return?
Will she welcome me with gladness,
From the fields of my sojourn?
If I die before
returning,
Send a message to my love,
I will see her in the valley,
As I look down from above.
by
David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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