The thought o' Mary Morison.
MY NANNIE O
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O.
The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill, western, keen
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; both dark
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. over