Ha' zunsheen on their lofty tops,
Where yonder land's a-lyèn plow'd,
An' red, below the snow-white cloud,
An' vlocks o' pitchèn rooks do vwold
Their wings to walk upon the mwold.
While floods be low,
An' buds do grow,
An' aïr do blow, a-broad, O.
But though the aïr is cwold below
The creakèn copses' darksome screen,