My song is of the sturdy North

My song is of the sturdy North

Whose hills are brown with heather,

Where countless flow'rs in spring peep forth

In spite of wind and weather.

The tufted larch is tipped with red

Where late the sun caressed her,

But now she bows her stately head

Before the keen Norwester.

Here fitful gleams the waves display

That thunder on the shingle,

There lake and torrent far away

In liquid music mingle.

Give me the misty mountain land

By ghosts of heros haunted,

With one I love at my right hand,

To face the world undaunted.