Young Lochinvar (1)/Sleepin' Maggy

Mirk an’ rainy is the night,
No a starn in a’ the carry,
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
An’ win’s drive wi’ winter’s fury.
O are ye sleepin’, Maggy,
O are ye sleepin’, Maggy;
​Let me in ⟨for loud the⟩ linn
Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.

Fearfu’ soughs the boor-tree bank;
The ⟨rifted⟩ ⟨wood⟩ ⟨roars⟩ wild an’ dreary,
Loud the iron yate does clank,
And cry o’ howlets maks me eerie.
O are ye sleepin’, Maggy, &c,

Aboon my breath I darena speak,
For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie,
Cauld’s the blast upon my cheek,
O rise, rise my bonny lady!
O are ye sleepin’, Maggy, &c.

She’s op’t the door, she’s let him in,
He cuist aside his dreeping plaidie;
“Blaw your warst ye rain an’ win’,
Since now I’m in aside ye, Maggy.”