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| BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows, | |
| ’Mang moors an’ mosses many, O, | |
| The wintry sun the day has clos’d, | |
| And I’ll awa to Nanie, O. | |
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| The westlin wind blaws loud an’ shill; | 5 |
| The night’s baith mirk and rainy, O; | |
| But I’ll get my plaid an’ out I’ll steal, | |
| An’ owre the hill to Nanie, O. | |
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| My Nanie’s charming, sweet, an’ young; | |
| Nae artfu’ wiles to win ye, O: | 10 |
| May ill befa’ the flattering tongue | |
| That wad beguile my Nanie, O. | |
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| Her face is fair, her heart is true; | |
| As spotless as she’s bonie, O: | |
| The op’ning gowan, wat wi’ dew, | 15 |
| Nae purer is than Nanie, O. | |
| |
| A country lad is my degree, | |
| An’ few there be that ken me, O; | |
| But what care I how few they be, | |
| I’m welcome aye to Nanie, O. | 20 |
| |
| My riches a’s my penny-fee, | |
| An’ I maun guide it cannie, O; | |
| But warl’s gear ne’er troubles me, | |
| My thoughts are a’ my Nanie, O. | |
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| Our auld guidman delights to view | 25 |
| His sheep an’ kye thrive bonie, O; | |
| But I’m as blythe that hands his pleugh, | |
| An’ has nae care but Nanie, O. | |
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| Come weel, come woe, I care na by; | |
| I’ll tak what Heav’n will sen’ me, O: | 30 |
| Nae ither care in life have I, | |
| But live, an’ love my Nanie, O. | |
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