At the water's edge
The Scottish girl does sit;
Six years old and dreaming
Of the day she finds her prince.

Ten years old, she goes
To get water from the loch.
Bucket in hand; she stands
Watching the ducks in thought.

The years pass and she becomes
A stunning, graceful lady.
Suitors come, asking for her hand,
Kneeling at the water's edge.

War comes and young men go
When the Jacobites do call
The girl, nursing wounded men,
Rests by the loch at nightfall.

Finally her prince arrives,
A warrior straight and strong.
The war ends and he says, yes,
This is where I belong.

At the water's edge they talk
Of the love that they did meet.
For, as soon as her warrior appeared,
He swept her off her feet.

Then, when she is twenty-one,
They finally do wed.
She heals his soul of guilt and pain;
The warrior stained in red.

The years go by and she has borne
Five bouncing, happy kids.
Two handsome boys and three bonny girls;
The family lives in bliss.

Thirty years pass soon; the kids
Have grown and wed their own.
The man and wife lie buried now;
Together at the water's edge.