Explore "Mary Morison" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Tune-"Bide ye yet."
O Mary, at thy window be, / It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! / Those smiles and glances let me see, / That make the miser's treasure poor: / How blythely was I bide the stour, / 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 among them a', / "Ye are na Mary Morison."
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.
1781