A
SONG
Saw
ye
the
glens
,
saw
ye
the
rocks
,
Or
saw
ye
bonny
Harry
Howie
?
On
yonder
hill
he
feeds
his
flocks
,
His
flocks
sae
gay
,
himsel
sae
dowie
.
Yes
,
I
hae
seen
the
glens
,
the
rocks
,
And
I've
been
wading
through
the
heather
;
And
there
I
spied
a
wand'ring
flock
,
Their
herd
was
gone
I
know
not
whither
.
But
hark
!
I
hear
a
dismal
choir
Of
bleating
lambs
,
and
shepherds
mourning
;
Ah
!
Harry
Howie
is
no
more
;
No
more
wild
echoes
are
returning
.
An
urchin
sly
has
slain
the
youth
,
Has
slain
him
with
a
bow
and
quiver
;
A
fairer
mind
of
spotless
truth
From
such
a
form
Death
ne'er
did
sever
.
Oft
will
I
leave
the
festive
train
,
And
seek
the
glens
and
rocks
sae
dowie
;
There
every
zephyr
shall
explain
What
I
have
felt
for
Harry
Howie
.