WHEN oer the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,
And owsen frae the furrowd field
Return sae dowf and weary O;
Down by the burn, where birken buds
Wi dew are hangin clear, my jo,
Ill meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind Dearie O.
At midnight hour, in mirkest glen,
Id rove, and neer be eerie, O,
If thro that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind Dearie O;
Altho the night were neer sae wild,
And I were neer sae weary O,
Ill meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind Dearie O.
The hunter loes the morning sun;
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen
Adown the burn to steer, my jo:
Gie me the hour o gloamin grey,
It maks my heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind Dearie O.