She wore the guise of a winter squall
Blowing through my empty hall,
With rime on window, frost on sill,
And icicle on gable bell.
Then she wore the guise of fallow doe,
As great with young as she could go.
Then she turned to me, then turned to go,
Leaving footprints in the snow.
But when a man's in love he feels no cold,
when a man's in love he feels no cold.
When a man's in love he feels no cold,
When a man's in love he feels no cold.
So bake for us the bridal bread,
And brew the bridal beer, oh.
And make for us the bridal bed,
And we will disappear, oh.
And farewell to the Clyde water,
The gently flowing river.
My love and I are going away,
Although we know not whither.
When a man's in love he feels no cold,
When a man's in love he feels no cold.
So bake for us the bridal bread,
And brew the bridal beer, oh.
And make for us the bridal bed,
And we will disappear, oh.
And farewell to the Clyde water,
The gently flowing river.
My love and I are going away,
Although we know not whither.
My love and I are going away,
Although we know not whither.