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 bellsHer colours betray’d her on yon mossy fells;Her plumage outlustr’d the pride o’ the springAnd 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.