I.

How lang and dreary is the night, When I am frae my dearie; I restless lie frae e'en to morn, Though I were ne'er sae weary. For oh! her lanely nights are lang; And oh! her dreams are eerie; And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, That's absent frae her dearie.

When I think on the lightsome days I spent wi' thee my dearie; And now what seas between us roar-- How can I be but eerie?