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.