The Owl hath left its hiding-place, The mist is o'er the sea; And wistfully a maiden's eyes. Look out for Duncan Lee. The one who seeks the meeting-spot. Is not the child of pride; She has no circlet round her arm, No greyhound by her side. But ah her brow betrays a soul As deep as soul can be; And dearer to that soul than life Is gallant Duncan Lee! "Where? where?" she cries, "My Duncan, art thou roving? The hour is past,—but yet I cannot doubt thy loving."
And now there moves a gallant form. Within the Castle hall; It hurries on with eager bound Beyond the Castle wall: 'Tis Duncan Lee, the wealthy heir To all Cathullin's lands; Whose name and tartan keep their place. Among the kilted bands. The sire hath listen'd to his son, The son hath fondly sued; The laird hath given the boy his will To wed the one he's woo'd, Who still is crying, "Where, My Duncan, art thou roving? The hour is past,—but yet I cannot doubt thy loving."
And now the foot of Duncan Lee Is dashing through the heather; And now the moon peeps out, and finds The beauteous pair together. Oh! what hallow'd bliss is there, What rapture in their greeting! His face is flushed with doting joy, Her heart is wildly beating. And soft he whispers in her ear, "To-morrow thou shalt be, Before the face of heaven and earth, The bride of Duncan Lee!" No more she's heard to cry, "Where, Duncan, art thou roving?" The bridal day is past, Their hearts are blest in loving.
