The Book of Scottish Song/O, are ye sleeping, Maggie
O, are ye sleeping, Maggie.
[Robert Tannahill.—Air, "Sleepy Maggie."
O, are ye sleepin', Maggie?
O, are ye sleepin', Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!
Mirk and rainy is the night;
No a stam in a' the carie;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive on wi' winter's fury.
Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank;
The rifted wood roars wild and drearie;
Loud the iron yett does clank;
And cry o' howlets maks me eerie.
Aboon my breath I daurna speak,
For fear I raise your waukrife daddy;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek;
O rise, rise, my bonnie lady!
She oped the door; she let him in;
He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidie;
Blaw your warst, ye wind and rain,
Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye!
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
What care I for howlet's cry,
For boor-tree bank and warlock craigie?