1.
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel heart!
2.
Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains!
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.
3.
Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.
4.
Oft as by winding Nith I musing, wait
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,
And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.

Inhuman man! curse on your barbarous art,
And blasted be your murder-aiming eye;
May never pity soothe you with a sigh,
Nor never pleasure glad your cruel heart!

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains!
No more the thickening brackens (fern) and verdant plains
To you shall home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of accustomed rest,
No more of rest, but now your dying bed!
The sheltering rushes whistling over your head,
The cold earth with your bloody bosom pressed.

Often as by winding (river) Nith I musing, wait
The sober evening, or hail the cheerful dawn,
I will miss you sporting over the dewy lawn,
And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn your hapless fate.