That stood low under the rain.
She's do'en her to her bigly bower,
As fast as she could gang,
An' there she's drawn her shot-window,
An' she's harped an' she's sang.
"There sits a bird i' my father's garden,
An O but she sings sweet!
I hope to live and see the day
When wi' my love I'll meet."
"O gin that ye like me as well