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 bells      Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;      Her plumage outlustr'd the pride o' the spring      And 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.