The stars are shining cheerily, cheerily,
Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
The sea mew [gull] is moaning drearily, drearily,
Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
Cold is the stormwind that ruffles his breast
But warm are the downy plumes lining his nest
Cold blows the storm there,
Soft falls the snow there,
Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
The waves are dancing merrily, merrily,
Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
The seabirds are wailing wearily, wearily,
Horo, 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
Horo, Mhairi dhu, turn ye to me.
Words by John Wilson (1785-1854), under the pseudonym Christopher North.