Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay


 * Cauld is the e’enin blast,
 * O’ Boreas o’er the pool,
 * An’ dawin’ it is dreary,
 * When birks are bare at Yule.


 * Cauld blaws the e’enin blast,
 * When bitter bites the frost,
 * And, in the mirk and dreary drift,
 * The hills and glens are lost:


 * Ne’er sae murky blew the night
 * That drifted o’er the hill,
 * But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay
 * Gat grist to her mill.