Oh! gin I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins--
Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins
By the foot o' Bennachie.
I've roam'd by Tweed, I've roam'd by Tay,
By Border Nith, and Highland Spey,
But dearer far to me than they
The braes o' Bennachie.
When blade and blossoms sprout in spring,
And bid the burdies wag the wing,
They blithely bob, and soar, and sing
By the foot o' Bennachie.
When simmer cleeds the varied scene
Wi' licht o' gowd and leaves o' green,
I fain would be where aft I've been
At the foot o' Bennachie.
When autumn's yellow sheaf is shorn,
And barn-yards stored wi' stooks o' corn,
'Tis blithe to toom the clyack horn
At the foot o' Bennachie.
When winter winds blaw sharp and shrill
O'er icy burn and sheeted hill,
The ingle neuk is gleesome still
At the foot o' Bennachie.
Though few to welcome me remain,
Though a' I loved be dead and gane,
I'll back, though I should live alane,
To the foot o' Bennachie.
Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins--
Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins
By the foot o' Bennachie.