Her een war o' the skyie blue,
Her lips did mock the wine.
The smile upon her bonnie cheek
Was sweeter than the bee;
Her voice excelled the birdie's sang
Upon the birchen tree.
Sae couthie, couthie did she look,
And meikle had she fleeched;[166]
Out shot his hand—alas! alas!
Fast in the swirl he screeched.