The bonnie Moor-hen.
[Hunting song, written by Burns. Music by Lee.]
The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
Our lads gaed a hunting ae day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discovered a bonnie moor-hen.
I red you beware at the hunting, young men,
I red you beware at the hunting, young men;
Tak' some on the wing,
And some as they spring,
But cannily steal on the bonnie moor-hen.
Old Phœbus, himself, as he peeped o'er the hill,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill:
He levelled his rays where she basked in the brae,
His rays were outshone, and but marked where she lay.
They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
The best o' our lads wi' the best o' their skill;
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
Then, whirr! she was over a mile at a flight.