D'ye see yon lowrin Ben
Broon as the brackened grun,
Lordin the hale o the glen,
Darklin oot the sun?

Its burns come whummlin doon,
Croonin their ain lament,
Wheeplin their wee bit tune
Wi the gowd o the gloamin in't.

Gaither its scent tae yer hairt,
Man, fur yer oor is short:
A wearisome road is thine,
Wi little tae show for't.