Rowan trees are sporting their red berries at the moment, waiting for winged Scandinavian plunderers to nourish themselves on their autumn journeys south. What admirable trees they are, writes Lesley Duncan, at all times of the year, whether standing bravely on a mountain ridge or decorating a suburban garden. The 18-century poet Lady Nairne wrote this affectionate tribute to them.

OH ROWAN TREE

Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree,

Thou'll aye be dear tae me,

Entwined thou art wi mony ties

O hame and infancy.

Thy leaves were aye the first of spring,

Thy flowers the simmer's pride.

There was nae sic a bonnie tree

In a' the country side,

Oh rowan tree.

How fair wert thou in simmer time

Wi' a' thy clusters white,

How rich and gay thy autumn dress,

Wi' berries red and bright!

On thy fair stem were many names

Which now nae mair I see

But they're engraven on my heart,

Forgot they ne'er can be,

Oh rowan tree.

We sat aneath thy spreading shade

The bairnies round thee ran

They pu'd thy bonnie berries red

And necklaces they strang.

My mither, oh! I see her still,

She smiled our sports to see

Wi little Jeanie on her lap,

And Jamie at her knee,

Oh rowan tree.

Oh there arose my father's pray'r

In holy ev'ning's calm.

How sweet was then my mother's voice,

In the martyrs' psalm.

Now a' are gane!

We meet nae mair aneath the rowan tree,

But hallow'd thoughts around thee twine

O' hame and infancy,

Oh rowan tree.