Robert Tannahill (1774–1810)

O, ARE ye sleepin’, Maggie?

O, are ye sleepin’, Maggie?

Let me in, for loud the linn

Is roaring o’er the warlock craigie!

Mirk and rainy is the night;

No a starn in a’ the carry:

Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,

And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.

Fearfu’ soughs the bour-tree bank;

The rifted wood roars wild and drearie;

Loud the iron yett does clank;

And cry o’ howlets mak’s me eerie.

Aboon my breath I daurna speak,

For fear I rouse your waukrife daddy;

Cauld’s the blast upon my cheek:

O rise, rise, my bonnie laddy!

She oped the door; she let me in:

I cuist aside my dreepin’ plaidie;

Blaw your warst, ye rain and win’,

Since, Maggie, now I’m in beside ye!

Now, since ye’re waukin’, Maggie,

What care I for howlet’s cry,

For bour-tree bank and warlock craigie?