Mary Morison

    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 bide¹ the stoure

    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

    I sigh'd and said amang them a'

    Ye are na Mary Morison.

    O Mary canst thou wreck² his peace

    Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee？

    Or canst thou break that heart of his

    Whase only faut is loving thee？

    If love for love thou wilt³ na gie

    At least be pity to me shown；

    A thought ungentle canna be

    The thought o' Mary Morison.