The king creepit down the cabin-stair
To drink the gude French wine;
An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair,
An' luikit ower the brine.
She turnt her face to the drivin' snaw,
To the snaw but and the weet;
It claucht her snood, an' awa' like a clud
Her hair drave oot i' the sleet.
She turnt her face frae the drivin' win —
"Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she,