Title Unknown |
Robert Burns, 1795
Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers; The furrow'd, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers. While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O why thus all alone are mine The weary steps o' woe!
2. The trout in yonder wimpling burn | 3. That little floweret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine, till Love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom; And now, beneath the withering blast, My youth and joy consume.
4. The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, |
5. O had my fate been Greenland snows, Or Afric's burning zone, Wi'man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! The wretch whose doom is "Hope nae mair" What tongue his woes can tell; Within whase bosom, save Despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. |