The Learig

When o'er the hill the eastern star

Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,

And owsen frae the furrow'd field

Return sae dowf and weary O;

Down by the burn, where birken buds

Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo,

I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind Dearie O.

At midnight hour, in mirkest glen,

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O,

If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,

My ain kind Dearie O;

Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae weary O,

I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind Dearie O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun;

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;

At noon the fisher seeks the glen

Adown the burn to steer, my jo:

Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey,

It maks my heart sae cheery O,

To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind Dearie O.