Wi’ gouden tint o’er tour and tree.
And aye they sang, &c.
That time for them the moon’s pale horn
Did wax and wain o’er land and sea,
But now has dawn’d the hapless morn,
That gilds the grave o’ a’ the three,
Nae mair they sing “We are nae fou,
Nae mair the drappie’s in their e’e,
Nor cock does craw, nor day does daw’,
Nae mair they’ll taste the barley bree.”