The Witch o' Fife

Hurray, hurray, the jade's away,
Like a rocket of air with her bandalet !
I'm up in the air on my bonny grey mare,
But I see her yet, I see her yet.
I'll ring the skirts o' the gowden wain
Wi' curb an' bit, wi' curb an' bit ;
An' catch the Bear by the frozen mane, —
An' I see her yet, I see her yet.

Away, away, o'er mountain an' main,
To sing at the morning's rosy yett ;
An' water my mare at its fountain clear, —
But I see her yet, I see her yet.
Away, thou bonny witch o' Fife,
On foam of the air to heave an' flit,
An' little reck thou of a poet's life,
For he sees thee yet, he sees thee yet,