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