How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd! How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd! ...
When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary, O! Down by the burn, where scented birks[1]...
My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strode he on the plain: But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again, O for him back again!...
Though cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart, Should tenderly entwine. Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,...
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...