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Breadalbane

Frae Kenmore tae Ben More

The land is a' the Marquis's;

The mossy howes, the heathery knowe

An'ilka bonnie park is his;

The bearded goats, the towsie stots,

An' a' the braxie carcases;

Ilk crofter's rent, ilk tinkler's tent,

An ilka collie's bark is his;

The muir-cock's craw, the piper's blaw,

The ghillie's hard day's wark is his;

Frae Kenmore tae Ben More

The warld is a'the Marquis's.

The fish that swim, the birds that skim,

The fir, the ash, the birk is his;

The castle ha' sae big an' braw,

Yon diamond crusted dirk is his;

The roofless hame, a burning shame,

The factor's dirty wark is his;

The poor folk vexed, the lawyer's text,

Yon smirking legal shark is his;

Frae Kenmore tae Ben More

The warld is a'the Marquis's.

But near, mair near, God's voice we hear

The dawn as weel's the dark is his;

The poet's dream, the patriot's theme,

The fire that lights the mirk is His.

They clearly show God's mills are slow

But sure, the handiwork is His;

And in His grace our hope we place;

Fair Freedom's sheltering ark is His

The men that toil should own the soil

A note as clear's the lark's is this

Breadalbane's land - the fair, the grand

Will no'be aye the Marquis's.