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.