Away in the Northland, the land of the mountains,
There stands a wee hoose on the bristle of the bray.
The streamlet runs past like a clear crystal fountain.
The lark in the glen sings a near haunting lay.
Away in the wildwood, the trees gently swaying,
The wind carries sweetly the scent of the pine.
And down in the valley, the pipers are playing
The scenes of my childhood, that dear hame of mine.
Hame of mine, hame of mine,
Where I dwelt in Auld Lang Syne.
That's where my head and my thoughts are forever,
That wee thacket cottage, that dear hame of mine.
That wee thacket cottage, that dear hame of mine.