Where the quivering lightning flings br His arrows from out the clouds, br And the howling tempest sings br And whistles among the shrouds, br 'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride br Along the foaming brine— br Wilt be the Rover's bride? br Wilt follow him, lady mine? br Hurrah! br For the bonny, bonny brine. br br Amidst the storm and rack, br You shall see our galley pass, br As a serpent, lithe and black, br Glides through the waving grass. br As the vulture swift and dark, br Down on the ring-dove flies, br You shall see the Rovers bark br Swoop down upon his prize. br Hurrah! br For the bonny, bonny prize.