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Robert Tannahill

                                            Mirk and rainy is the nicht,
                                            There's no a staurn in a' the carry;
                                            Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
                                            And 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 dreary.
                                            Loud the iron yett does clank,
                                            And cry of howlets makes me eerie.
                                            Abune my breath I daurna speak
                                            For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie;
                                            Cauld's the blast upon my cheek,
                                            O rise, rise my bonnie lady.
                                            She oped the door, she let him in,
                                            He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidie.
                                            'Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
                                            Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye'.
                                            Final Chorus:
                                            Now since ye're wauken, Maggie,
                                            Now since ye're wauken , Maggie,
                                            What care I for howlet's cry,
                                            For boortree bank or warlock craigie!
Footnote : This version of an old song 'Sleepy Maggie' was composed by Robert Tannahill (1774-1810), the Paisley Bard. Apprenticed to the cotton-weaving trade at the age of nine, Tannahill is said to have spent more time cobbling verses than watching his loom. He was ranked as the most gifted song writer among the many working-class bards who followed in the footsteps of Robert Burns.


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