Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

158 . Song—The Bonie Moor-hen

THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn,

Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,

O’er moors and o’er mosses and mony a glen,

At length they discover’d a bonie moor-hen.

Chorus.—I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men,

I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men;

Take some on the wing, and some as they spring,

But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.

Sweet-brushing the dew from the brown heather bells

Her colours betray’d her on yon mossy fells;

Her plumage outlustr’d the pride o’ the spring

And O! as she wanton’d sae gay on the wing.

I rede you, &c.

Auld Phœbus himself, as he peep’d o’er the hill,

In spite at her plumage he tried his skill;

He levell’d his rays where she bask’d on the brae—

His rays were outshone, and but mark’d where she lay.

I rede you,&c.

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,

The best of our lads wi’ the best o’ their skill;

But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,

Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.

I rede you, &c.

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