Mary Morison
Mary Morison | |
Robert Burns, 1780
| O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That makes 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! | 2. 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 or 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!' |
| 3. Oh, 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 wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. |