Thou theme o’ Ramsay’s pastoral lay;
O hoary, moss-clad Craigy Bield.
The auld oak bower, wi’ ivy twined,
Adorns thy weather-furrowed brow,
A trysting-place where lovers met
When tenting flocks in Habbie’s Howe.
When April’s suns glint through the trees,
The mavis lilts his mellow lay;
And, deep amid thy sombre shades
The owlet screams at close of day.