The raven, he croaks on the cairn —
A wife had a bairn;
And the bairn was her heart's delight
From morning till night:
But when he grew up, with a knife
He let out her life;
And they took him and strung him on high
To dance in the sky,
Then cut down the corpse, and a cairn
Built over her bairn —
Ay, buried his mother's delight
In the dead of the night:
And naught but a rackle of bones
Lies under the stones.

So the old raven croaks on the cairn
As I dandle my bairn.