Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
’Mang moors an’ mosses many O,
The wintry sun the day has clos’d,
And I’ll awa’ to Nannie O.
The westlin wind blaws loud an’ shill,
The night’s baith mirk and rainy O;
But I’ll get my plaid, an’ out I’ll steal,
An’ owre the hill to Nannie O.
My Nannie’s charming, sweet, and young:
Nae artfu’ wiles to win ye O:
May ill befa’ the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she’s bonnie O:
The opening gowan, wat wi’ dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie O.
A country lad is my degree,
An’ few there be that ken me O;
But what care I how few they be,
I’m welcome aye to Nannie O.
My riches a’s my penny-fee,
An’ I maun guide it cannie O;
But warl’s gear ne’er troubles me,
My thoughts are a’ my Nannie O.
Our auld Guidman delights to view
His sheep an’ kye thrive bonnie O:
But I’m as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An’ has nae care but Nannie O.
Come weel, come woe, I care na by,
I’ll tak what Heav’n will send me O;
Nae ither care in life have I,
But live, an’ love my Nannie O.