Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main! May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! - Robert Burns, 'Wandering Willie'.