The lassie swart'd, loot fa' the pail;
Rob's lingle brack as he mendit the flail,
At the sicht o' Aiken-drum.
His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wan'ered down like a vest;
But the glare o' his e'e hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.
Roun' his hairy form there was naething seen,
But a philabeg o' the rashes green,
An' his knotted knees played aye knoit between;