Between the bent and the burn and the broom
⁠(Sweet fruits are sair to gather)
He's laid him to sleep till dawn of doom:
⁠And the wind wears owre the heather.

He's tane him owre the waters wide,
⁠(Sweet fruits are sair to gather)
Afar to fleet and afar to bide:
⁠And the wind wears owre the heather.

His hair was yellow, his cheek was red,
⁠(Sweet fruits are sair to gather)
When he set his face to the wind and fled:
⁠And the wind wears owre the heather.

His banes were stark and his een were bright
⁠(Sweet fruits are sair to gather)
When he set his face to the sea by night:
⁠And the wind wears owre the heather.