When o'er the hill the eastern star
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Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,
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And owsen frae the furrow'd field
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Return sae dowf and weary O;
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Down by the burn, where birken buds
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Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo,
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I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
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My ain kind Dearie O.
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At midnight hour, in mirkest glen,
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I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O,
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If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
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My ain kind Dearie O;
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Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
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And I were ne'er sae weary O,
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I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
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My ain kind Dearie O.
|
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The hunter lo'es the morning sun;
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To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
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At noon the fisher seeks the glen
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Adown the burn to steer, my jo:
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Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey,
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It maks my heart sae cheery O,
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To meet thee on the lea-rig,
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My ain kind Dearie O.
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The Lea-Rig
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| Andy M. Stewart |
