Gane were but the winter cauld,
And gane were but the snaw,
I could sleep in the wild woods,
Where primroses blaw.
Cauld's the snaw at my head,
And cauld at my feet,
And thy finger o' death's at my een
Closing them to sleep.
Let nane tell my father,
Or my mither sae dear:
I'll meet them baith in Heaven,
At the spring o' the year.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A modern translation of this follows
GONE were but the winter cold,
And gone were but the snow,
I could sleep in the wild woods
Where primroses blow.
Cold 's the snow at my head,
And cold at my feet;
And the finger of death 's at my e'en,
Closing them to sleep.
Let none tell my father
Or my mother so dear,--
I'll meet them both in heaven
At the spring of the year.
