Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnocht-Head,
⁠The snaw drives snellie thro' the dale;
The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck
⁠And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale.

Cauld is the night, O let me in
⁠And dinna let your minstrel fa';
And dinna let his winding sheet
⁠Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.

Full ninety winters hae I seen,
⁠And pip'd whar gor-cocks whirring flew;
And mony a day ye've danc'd I ween,
⁠To lilts, which from my drone I blew.

My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried,
⁠Get up, gudeman, and let him in;
For weel ye ken the winter nights
⁠Seem'd short when he began his din.

My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet,
⁠E'en tho' she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it's tun'd to sorrows tale,
⁠O, haith, it's doubly dear to me.

​Come in, auld carle, I'll steer my fire,
⁠I'll mak it bleeze a bonnie flame,
Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate,
⁠Ye should na stray sae far frae hame.

Nae hame hae I the minstrel said,
⁠Sad party-strife o'erturn'd my ha';
And, weeping, at the eve of life,
⁠I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw.