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For I can hear the wild halloo
That freichts the face o' Morn!
'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood
Hae packs full fifty-three:
They hunt all day, they hunt all nicht,
They never bow an ee:
'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood
Hae steeds but blude or bane:
They bear fiert maidens to a weird
Where mercy there is nane!
'And I the Laird o' Sillarwood
Hae beds baith deep and wide,
(Of clay-cauld earth) whereon to streik
A proud and dainty bride!
'Ho! look beside yon bonny birk—
The latest blink of day
Is gleamin' on a comely heap
Of freshly dug red clay;
'Richt cunning hands they were that digged
Forenent the birken tree
