When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and weary O;
Down by the burn, where birken buds
Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind Dearie O

At midnight hour, in mirkest glen
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee
My ain kind Dearie O;
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild
And I were ne'er sae weary O
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind Dearie O

The hunter lo'es the morning sun;
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen
Adown the burn to steer, my jo:
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey
It maks my heart sae cheery O
To meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind Dearie O