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From their damp dreary dungoons forth she doth lead them,
To ravage the forests and plains all around them
Likewise to the bushes of lovely Broomfauld.
But the bright Sun of day when he smiles o'er yon mountain
Forbids such foal ravens abroad for to roam;
While the gay birds enjoying baith woodlands and fountain,
Or sweetly do chant on the lang yellow broom;
On a green thorn bush, near a village, sings cheerly,
Some lovely young linnets, one I love dearly,
That one I could shelter in my bosom securely,
The lovely young lassie I saw at Broomfauld.
With her I could lie on a cold barren mountain,
In a straw cover'd cottage, though never so poor;
Where foot never trode, save the wild deer rebounding
A roe-buck that stots o'er the heath-cover'd muir.
Though heath were my bed and brachens my pillow,
With picture I'd lie and hear the winds bellow,
With her in my arms, my lovely dear fellow,
The charming sweet lassie I saw at Broomfauld.
Could I now possess her whom I love dearly,
How happy I'd be in her presence to dwell
To soon have no care, but to toil late and early;
