At the mill o' Tifty's lived a man
In the neighbourhood o' Fyvie,
For he had a lovely daughter fair
And they ca'd her bonnie Annie.
Noo her bloom was like the springin' flo'er
That hails the rosy mornin',
And her innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous face adornin'.
Noo, her hair was fair and her eyes were blue
And her cheeks as red as rosies,
And her countenance was fair to view
And they ca'd her Bonnie Annie.
Noo, Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Wha's name was Andrew lammie,
And he had the airt to gain the hairt
O' the mill o' Tifty's Annie.
Noo, Lord Fyvie he rode by the door
Where lived Tifty's Annie,
And his trumpeter rode him before
Even this same Andra Lammie.
Noo, her mother cried her to the door,
Sayin', "Come here to me, my Annie.
Did e'er ye see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie ?"
Oh naithin' she said, but sighin' sare.
'Twas alas for bonnie Annie !
For she durst nae own her hairt was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie.
"Oh, my love, I go tae Edinburgh toon
And for a while must leave."
"Oh, but I'll be deid afore ye cam back
In the green kirk yaird o' Fyvie."
Noo, her faither struck her wondrous sore
And also did her mother,
And her sisters also took their score
But woe be tae her brother.
Her brother struck her wondrous sore,
Wi' cruel strokes - and many,
And he broke her back owre the temple stane,
Aye, the temple stane o' Fyvie.
"Oh, mother dear, please make my bed
And lay my face tae Fyvie,
For I will lie and I will die
For my dear Andra Lammie."
Noo, when Andra hame fae Edinburgh came
Wi' muckle grief and sorrow ;
"Oh, my love she died for me last night
So I'll die for her tomoorow."
