wild as the winter now tearing the forest,

till thest leaf o' the summer is flown;

such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,

till myst hope andst fort is gone.

still as i hail thee, thou gloomy december,

still shall i hail thee wi' sorrow and care;

for sad was the parting thou makes me remember,

parting wi' nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair.