CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride,

Down by the braes and the grey sea-side;

Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn,

Weary fa’ their horse-shoe-airn!

Loud on the causey, saft on the sand,

Round they rade by the tail of the land;

Round and up by the Bour–Tree Den¹,

Weary fa’ the red-coat men!

Aft hae I gane where they hae rade

And straigled in the gowden brooms —

Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid,

And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!

Wi’ swords and guns they wanton there,

Wi’ red, red coats and braw, braw plumes².

But I gaed wi’ my gowden hair,

And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!

I ran, a little hempie lass,

In the sand and the bent³ grass,

Or took and kilted my small coats

To play in the beached fisher-boats.

I waded⁴ deep and I ran fast,

I was as lean as a lugger’s mast,

I was as brown as a fisher’s creel,

And I liked my life unco weel.

They blew a trumpet⁵ at the cross,

Some forty men, both foot and horse.

A’body cam to hear and see,

And wha, among the rest, but me.

My lips were saut wi’ the saut air,

My face was brown, my feet were bare

The wind had ravelled my tautit hair,

And I thought shame to be standing⁶ there.

Ae man there in the thick of the throng⁷

Sat in his saddle, straight and strong.

I looked at him and he at me,

And he was a master-man to see.

. . . And who is this yin? and who is yon

That has the bonny lendings on?

That sits and looks sae braw and crouse?

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