My Morag (The Exile’s Dream)

Fair is my Morag, my maiden, my Morag
My tender young Morag that lives in yon glen
I dream of my Morag, dream-wander wi' Morag
Where leaps the brown burn from the mist on the ben
Where leaps the brown burn from the mist on the ben
Sweet as hill water, cool waters, hill waters
My maiden, my Morag, asleep in yon glen
And cool as the water, like the rush of a river
Comes this dream to my hot heart, parch'd dry as the plain
This dream to my hot heart, parch'd dry as the plain
For fair is my Morag, my maiden, my Morag
My lovely young Morag that lives in yon glen
And dreaming of Morag, dream-wand'ring wi' Morag
I hear the stream sing again beneath the cold ben
I hear the stream sing again beneath the cold ben