And I were ne'er sae wearie O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.
The hunter lo'es the morning sun, loves
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher takes the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey twilight
It maks my heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,