Cauld is the e'enin blast
O' Boreas o'er the pool,
And dawin it is dreary,
When birks are bare at Yule.

O cauld blaws the e'enin blast,
When bitter bites the frost,
And in the mirk and dreary drift,
The hills and glens are lost:

Ne'er sae murky blew the night
That drifted o'er the hill,
But bonie Peg a Ramsay
Gat grist to her mill.