My wailing numbers!
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! each, dove
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens! woods
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, winding
Wi' toddlin din,
Or foaming strang wi' hasty stens heaps
Frae lin to lin. fall
Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see;