O’er crags a hundred fathoms steep,
He plunged into the linn.
We found him when the morning sun
Shone brightly from the eastern sky;
Upon his back he was afloat—
His hat was sailing like a boat—
His staff was found on high.
Oh reckless woman, Susan Foy,
To leave the poor, old, loving man,
And with a soldier, young and gay,