Robert Tannahill, Bonny Mally Stewart (1826)
“ Now naething is heard but the wind whistling dreary, And naething is seen but the wide-speading snaw The trees are a' bare, an' the birds mu e a n to down They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee, An' chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie, 'Tis winter with them, and 'tis winter wi' me. ”
