the bonie moor-hen
the heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,
o'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
at length they discover'd a bonie moor-hen.
chorus.—i rede you, beware at the hunting, young men,
i rede you, beware at the hunting, young men;
take some on the wing, and some as they spring,
but cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.
sweet—brushing the dew from the brown heather bells
her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
her plumage outlustr'd the pride o' the spring
and o! as she wanton'd sae gay on the wing.
i rede you, &c.
auld phoebus himself, as he peep'd o'er the hill,
in spite at her plumage he tried his skill;
he levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae—
his rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay.
i rede you,&c.
they hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
the best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill;
but still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.
i rede you, &c.