In fair Tweeddale where the Tweed runs bright,
Through heathered hills and morning light,
The valley winds through glen and lea,
A land of beauty, wild and free.
From Broughton down to Peebles town,
Where rolling green-clad hills look down,
The river sings its ancient song,
As through the countryside it flows along.
Long centuries have shaped this land,
With noble folk and shepherds grand,
A province once in Scotland’s story,
Remembered still in former glory.
The sheriff ruled in days of old,
Through forests dark and moorlands cold,
Till Peeblesshire arose in fame,
And Tweeddale proudly kept its name.
The years rolled on, and changes came,
Yet still the valley stayed the same,
Though councils passed and borders changed,
Its ancient beauty still remained.
Where curlews call above the moor,
And quiet waters sweep ashore,
The Upper Tweeddale hills arise,
Beneath the wide and endless skies.
Today the towns still stand with pride,
With Innerleithen by the side,
West Linton, Peebles, old and true,
Keeping Tweeddale’s spirit in view.
O Tweeddale fair, forever be,
A jewel of the Borders free,
Where history, river, hill, and dale,
Together weave Scotland’s timeless tale.
