  Illustrated O O Mary, at thy window be— It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor. How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, Of lovely Mary Morison! Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,— I sat, but neither heard nor saw, Though this was fair, and that was braw, And you the toast of a' the town, I sighed, and said, amang them a', Ye are na Mary Morison! woman working viewed through open window 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 wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown: A thought ungentle canna be The thought of Mary Morison. decoration |
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