Robert Tannahill (Роберт Таннахилл)

* * *

THROUGH Crockston Castle’s lanely wa’s
  The wintry wind howls wild and dreary;
Though mirk the cheerless e’ening fa’s,
  Yet I ha’e vowed to meet my Mary.
Yes, Mary, though the winds should rave
  Wi’ jealous spite to keep me frae thee,
The darkest stormy night I ’d brave,
  For ae sweet secret moment wi’ thee.

Loud o’er Cardonald’s rocky steep
  Rude Cartha pours in boundless measure;
But I will ford the whirling deep,
  That roars between me and my treasure.
Yes, Mary, though the torrent rave,
  Wi’ jealous spite, to keep me frae thee,
Its deepest flood I ’d bauldly brave,
  For ae sweet secret moment wi’ thee.

The watch-dog’s howling loads the blast,
  And makes the nightly wanderer eerie;
But when the lonesome way is past,
  I ’ll to this bosom clasp my Mary!
Yes, Mary, though stern winter rave,
  With a’ his storms, to keep me frae thee,
The wildest dreary night I ’d brave,
  For ae sweet secret moment wi’ thee.

1. Our Bonny Scots Lads
2. The Lass o’ Arranteenie
3. Craigie Lea
4. Song (The evening sun's gaen down the west)
5. Jessie the Flower o' Dumblane

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