Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht head,
The snaw drives snelly 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.

 ... 

My Eppie's voice, O wow its sweet!
E'en tho' she bans and scolds a wee,
But when its tun'd to sorrow's tale,
O haith! its doubly dear to me."

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

 ...