O have ye saw the blackberries,
Upon the brambly bush?
The Johnny Magory still is bright,
Whin all the flowers are dead,
Her hair, was like the blackberries!
Her dhress, Magory red!
O have you ever saunthered out
Upon a winther's night,
Whin the crispy frost, is on the ground,
An' all the stars, are bright?