Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The Deil, or else an outler Quey,
Gat up an' gae a croon:
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav'rock-height she jumpet,
But mist a fit, an' in the pool,
Out owre the lugs she plumpet,
Wi' a plunge that night.