Turn Ye To MeHoro, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me. The sea mew's moaning drearily, drearily Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me. Cold is the stormwind that ruffles the breast But warm are the downy plumes lining its nest Cold blows the storm there Soft falls the snow there Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
The waves are dancing merrily, merrily |