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 bide 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 wreck 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 wilt na gie

    At least be pity to me shown；

    A thought ungentle canna be

    The thought o' Mary Morison.