The stars are shining cheerily, cheerily, Ho-ro, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me; The seamew is moaning drearily, drearily, Ho-ro, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me. Cold is the storm-wind that ruffles his breast, But warm are the downy plumes lining his nest. Cold blows the storm there, soft falls the snow there, Ho-ro Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me. The waves are dancing merrily, merrily, Ho-ro Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me; The sea-birds are wailing, wearily, wearily, Ho-ro Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me. Hushed be thy moaning, lone bird of the sea, Thy home on the rocks is a shelter to thee, Thy home is the angry wave, mine but the lonely grave; Ho-ro Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.

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