On the moor dwells Bonnie Jennie
On the cliffs she flies alone;
And her beauty is of such force
'Twill turn any man to stone.

The fairness of her wond'rous face
Has made men blind, crazed, or sick;
And the fleeting chill of her touch
Has frozen them to the quick.

And in the land a soldier dwells,
As straight as ary on the moor;
"And I must touch Jennie's hand," he says,
"Just once, ere I breathe no more."

Would you forsake your house and home,
Forsake your good friends three?
"I'd forsake it all for Jennie's touch,
I'd swim through the wine-dark sea."

Would you forsake all you know,
And forsake your station here?
"For Bonnie Jennie's thrilling touch,
I'd go with no twinge of fear."

But Bonnie Jennie beckons now,
She beckons with shiv’ring hand!
"Then I must leave you in the mist,
And say farewell to my native land."

He starts, and moves, and reaches out
To caress that impossible face;
But Bonnie Jennie flutters back,
And darts from place to place.

And the Bonnie Jennie is away,
Pulled back like a kite on a string;
And he is left with naught but mist,
And can hear not a blessed thing.

And try as he might, he cannot recall
The features of her he has seen;
He is tormented by his missing thoughts
But does not know what they mean.