Dark and rainy is the night,
There's no a star in a' the carry;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And the cauld winds drive wi' winter's fury.

    O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
    O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
    Let me in, for loud the linn
    Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!

Fearfu' soughs the boortree bank,
The rifted wood roars wild and drearie,
Loud the iron yett does clank,
And the cry o' howlets makes me eerie.

Aboon my breath I daurna speak
For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek, -
Arise, arise, my bonnie lady!

She op'd the door, she let him in;
He coost aside his dreepin' plaidie;
Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye.

    Now since ye're waukin', Maggie,
    Now since ye're waukin', Maggie,
    What care I for howlet's cry,
    For boortree bank, or warlock craigie?

Robert Tannahill (1774 - 1810)