Pretty, strong, and tall was she
who rode through the meadows fair
Heralded by the jangling bells
that hung in her twisted red hair
Her friends, the ravens, followed sure
feasting hearty on her kills
and her only kin were the golden cats
of the western grim grey hills
Fierce were the lassie's eyes
and her smile was oh, so bold
Loud and mocking were her laughs
as, fleet on her steed, she rode
Crying, "Warriors of the meadows fair
mend your gaze and sheath your blades!
For no man alive should dare contend
with Flealie O' the crimson braids!"