O weet and weary is the night,
Wi' soughing wind and rain, O;
And he that was sae true to me,
Is on the hill-side slain, O!

O that the head that did the deed,
Had lain me where he's lying,
The green turf o'er my peacefu' head,
The night winds round me sighing!

But I maun hear and I maun grieve,
And I maun thole the morrow;
This heart's no made o' flesh and blood,
It winna break wi' sorrow.

What's a' this gaudy warld to me?
I canna bide the glare o't;
O gin it were the High Decree,
That I micht see nae mair o't!

For he had ta'en the Covenant
For Scotland's sake to dee, O,
Death to him was gain we ken,
But oh! the loss to me, O!