The red moon is up, o'er the moss-cover'd mountain; The hour is at hand when I promised to rove With the turf-cutter's daughter, by Logan's bright water; And tell her how truly her Donald can love. I ken there's the miller, wi' plenty o' siller, Would fain win a glance from her beautiful 'ee; But my ain bonnie Mary, the star o' Glengary, Keeps a' her sweet smiles and saft kisses for me.
'Tis lang sin' we first trod the Highlands togither, Twa frolicsome bairns, gaily starting the deer; When I ca'd her my life! my ain bonnie wee wife, And ne'er knew sic joy as when Mary was near. And still she's the blossom I wear in my bosom, A blossom I'll cherish and wear till I dee; For my ain bonnie Mary, the star o' Glengary, She's health, and she's wealth, and she's a' good to me!
