Where is my Owen, where is my true Love ?
  O saw ye the shepherd that's dearest to me?
Where art thou wandering? come haste to my view, love!
  O art thou not eager thy Mary to see?
Long, long does he tarry, ah! surely some new love
  Detains o'er the mountains my Owen from me,
But swains do not grieve me, still kindly deceive me,
  And answer thy Owen is constant to thee.

 ... 

Heavens, who comes yonder? ah 'tis my Owen,
  And smiling he hastens his Mary to greet!
His tender impatience each eager step shewing,
  To which my fond heart gives an answering beat,
Now, foolish tears, wherefore, why thus are ye flowing,
  My Owen will fancy I grieve when we meet,
No, he'll never leave me, nor ever deceive me,
  O! heaven, those kind glances! my joy is complete.