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Robert Burns (1759–1796).  Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics.  1909–14.
 
158. Song—The Bonie Moor-hen
 
 
THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,
O’er moors and o’er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discover’d a bonie moor-hen.
 
Chorus.—I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men,        5
I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men;
Take some on the wing, and some as they spring,
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.
 
Sweet-brushing the dew from the brown heather bells
Her colours betray’d her on yon mossy fells;        10
Her plumage outlustr’d the pride o’ the spring
And O! as she wanton’d sae gay on the wing.
      I rede you, &c.
 
Auld Phoebus himself, as he peep’d o’er the hill,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill;        15
He levell’d his rays where she bask’d on the brae—
His rays were outshone, and but mark’d where she lay.
      I rede you,&c.
 
They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
The best of our lads wi’ the best o’ their skill;        20
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.
      I rede you, &c.
·      ·      ·      ·      ·
 

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