THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,
Oer moors and oer mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discoverd a bonie moor-hen.
Chorus.I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men,
I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men;
Take some on the wing, and some as they spring,
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.
Sweet-brushing the dew from the brown heather bells
Her colours betrayd her on yon mossy fells;
Her plumage outlustrd the pride o the spring
And O! as she wantond sae gay on the wing.
I rede you, &c.
Auld Phoebus himself, as he peepd oer the hill,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill;
He levelld his rays where she baskd on the brae
His rays were outshone, and but markd where she lay.
I rede you,&c.
They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
The best of our lads wi the best o their skill;
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.
I rede you, &c.