Quhyle I wan to the bonnie Ha’ Dykes.
My tale was tauld. They leuche, an’ quo’ they,
“A frychtyt pheasaunte spryngs
Wi’ a skraich an’ a whyrre;”—but I threepyt them doone,
That I kenn’t it was nae sic thyngs,
For quhatte could pit me i’ sic mortal dreide
That flees upo’ mortal wyngs?
The gyrse growes greene about bonnie Ha’ Dykes,
On meadowe, brae an’ lea;
The corn waves wyde on its weel wrochte rygges,