Isabel Pagan (c. 1740–1821)

CA’ the yowes to the knowes,

Ca’ them whare the heather grows,

Ca’ them whare the burnie rows,

My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water side,

There I met my shepherd lad,

He rowed me sweetly in his plaid,

And he ca’d me his dearie.

‘Will ye gang down the water side,

And see the waves sae sweetly glide

Beneath the hazels spreading wide,

The moon it shines fu’ clearly.’

‘I was bred up at nae sic school,

My shepherd lad, to play the fool;

And a’ the day to sit in dool,

And naebody to see me.’

‘Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet,

Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,

And in my arms ye’se lie and sleep,

And ye sall be my dearie.’

‘If ye’ll but stand to what ye’ve said,

I’se gang wi’ you, my shepherd lad;

And ye may row me in your plaid,

And I sall be your dearie.’

‘While waters wimple to the sea,

While day blinks in the lift sae hie;

Till clay-cauld death sall blin’ my e’e,

Ye aye shall be my dearie.’