As I gaed up by yon gate-end,
When day was waxin weary,
Wha did I meet come down the street
But pretty Peg, my dearie?
Her air so sweet, her shape complete,
Wi' nae proportion wanting—
The Queen of Love could never move
Wi' motion mair enchanting!
With linked hands we took the sands
Down by yon winding river;
And O! that hour, and shady bow'r,
Can I forget it? Never!