Young Lochinvar (3)/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 oʻer the warlock cragie.

​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 wankrife dadie,
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."