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This fantastic tune is never heard, but should be. I found it in a book called “Seventy Scottish Songs” by Helen Hopekirk.
I decided to play this tune in D, though it used to be written out in G - much too high for me. Its far more complicated than most of the simple songs we sing at events.

    Far Over Yon Hills

    by James Hogg
    Far [D] over yon [G] hills o’ the [A] heather so [D] green
    and [D] down by the [G] corrie that [A] sings by the [D] sea
    The [D] bonnie young [G] Flora sat [A] sighing her [D] lane
    The [D] dew on her [G] plaid and the [A] tear in her [D] eye

    She [D] look’ed at the [A] boat with the [A] breezes that [Em] swung
    a [D] way on the [A] waves like a [Em] bird on the [G] main
    an [A] ay as it lessed she [D] sighed as she [Em] sung
    “Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!

    “Fare thee [A] well to my hero, the [D] gallant and [Em] young
    Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!”

    The moorcock that crows on the brows of Ben Connal
    he kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame
    The eagle that soars on the cliffs of Clan Ronald
    unawed and unhunted, his eyie can claim

    The solan can sleep on the shelf of the shores
    The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea
    But ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore
    Nor house, hall nor home in his country has he

    The conflict is past and our name is no more
    There’s nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me

    The target is torn from the arm of the just
    The helmet is cleft from the brow of the brave
    The claymore forever in darkness must rust
    but red is the sword of the stranger and slave.

    The hoof of the horse and the foot of the proud
    have trode o’er the plumes on his bonnet of blue
    Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud
    when tyranny reveled in blood of the true?

    Farewell my young hero, the gallant and good
    The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow.