Explore "Lord Gregory" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, / And loud the tempest's roar; / A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, / Lord Gregory, ope thy door. / An exile frae her father's ha', / And a' for loving thee; / At least some pity on me shaw, / If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove / By bonie Irwine side, / Where first I own'd that virgin love / I lang, lang had denied. / How aften didst thou pledge and vow / Thou wad for aye be mine! / And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, / It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, / And flinty is thy breast: / Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, / O, wilt thou bring me rest! / Ye mustering thunders from above, / Your willing victim see; / But spare and pardon my fause Love, / His wrangs to Heaven and me.