Her locks were like Aurora bright,
Her lips like dropping dew.
Blithe Davy’s blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free,
“Gang down the burn, Davy, love,
And I will follow thee.”
As fate had dealt to him a routh,
Straight to the kirk he led her;
There plight’d her his faith and truth,
And a bonny bride he made her;