by: Robert Burns (1759-1796)
POEMS BY ROBERT BURNS
at thy window be,
- It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
- Those smiles and glances let me see,
- That make the miser's treasure poor:
- How blythely wad I bide the stour
- A weary slave frae sun to sun,
- Could I the rich reward secure,
- The lovely Mary Morison!
- Yestreen, when to the trembling string
- The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
- To thee my fancy took its wing,
- I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
- Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
- And yon the toast of a' the town,
- A sigh'd, and said among them a',
- 'Ye arena Mary Morison.'
- O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
- Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
- Or canst thou break that heart of his,
- Whase only faut is loving thee?
- If love for love thou wiltna gie,
- At least be pity to me shown;
- A thought ungentle canna be
- The thought o' Mary Morison.