When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn, where birken buds Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo I'll meet thee on the lea-rig My ain kind Dearie O At midnight hour, in mirkest glen I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O If thro' that glen I gaed to thee My ain kind Dearie O; Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild And I were ne'er sae weary O I'll meet thee on the lea-rig My ain kind Dearie O The hunter lo'es the morning sun; To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; At noon the fisher seeks the glen Adown the burn to steer, my jo: Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey It maks my heart sae cheery O To meet thee on the lea-rig My ain kind Dearie O