Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Row weel, my Boatie

Row Weel, My Boatie.

Row weel, my boatie, row weel, Row weel, my merry men a',For there's dool and there's wae in Glenfiorich's bowers, And there's grief in my father's ha'.

And the skiff it danced light on the merry wee waves, And it flew ower the water sae blue,And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright, But the boatie ne'er reached Allandhu.

Ohon! for fair Ellen, ohon! Ohon! for the pride of Strathcoe—In the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree, Lord Reoch, thy Ellen lies low.  1816.