Up the airy mountain down the rushy glen
we darn't go a hunting for fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk trooping all together
green jacket, red cap, and white owl's feather.
Verse 2
By the craggy hillside through the mosses bare
they've planted thorn trees for pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring as to dig them up in spite
he'll find their sharpest thorns in his bed at night.