The Learig

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.