Oh, the summer-time has come And the trees are sweetly bloomin', And the wild mountain thyme Grows around the blooming heather; Will ye go, lassie, go? And we'll all go together, To pull wild mountain thyme All around the blooming heather; Will ye go, lassie, go? I will build my love a bower By yon pure, crystal fountain, And round it I will pile All the wild flowers of the mountain; Will ye go, lassie, go? I will range through the wilds And the deep land so dreary And return with the spoils To the bower o' my dearie; Will ye go, lassie, go? If my true love will not come I will surely find another To pull wild mountain thyme All around the purple heather; Will ye go, lassie, go? |
*