When I've done my work of day, and I row my boat away
Doun the waters of Loch Tay as the evening sun is sinking,
Then I look toward Ben Lawers, where the after glories glow
I dream on two bright eyes and the merry mouth below.
She's my beauteous nighean ruadh, she's my joy and sorrow too;
Though I own she is not true, ah, but I cannot live without her.
For my heart's a boat in tow, and I'd give the world to know
If she means to let me go, as I sing hori horo.
Nighean ruadh, your lovely hair is more beauteous I declare
Than all the tresses fair from Killin to Aberfeldy.
Be they milk-white, gold, or brown, be they blacker than the sloe,
They mean as much to me as a melting flake of snow.
And her dance is like the gleam of the sunlight on the stream
And the songs the wee folk sing, they're the songs she sings at milking.
But my heart is full of woe, for last night she bade me go,
And the tears begin to flow, as I sing hori horo.