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 with 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 waters, 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 tender young Morag that lives in yon glen
And dreaming of Morag, dream-wand'ring with Morag
I hear the stream sing again beneath the cold ben
I hear the stream sing again beneath the cold ben