Poem by Alexander A. Ritchie

The Wells o’ Wearie

SWEETLY shines the sun on auld Edinbro’ toun,
  And mak’s her look young and cheerie;
Yet I maun awa’ to spend the afternoon
  At the lanesome Wells o’ Wearie.

And you maun gang wi’ me, my winsome Mary Grieve,
  There ’s naught in the world to fear ye;
For I ha’e asked your minnie, and she has gi’en ye leave
  To gang to the Wells o’ Wearie.

O, the sun winna blink in thy bonnie blue een,
  Nor tinge the white brow o’ my dearie;
For I ’ll shade a bower wi’ rashes lang and green
  By the lanesome Wells o’ Wearie.

But, Mary, my love, beware ye dinna glower
  At your form in the water so clearly,
Or the fairy will change you into a wee, wee flower,
  And you ’ll grow by the Wells o’ Wearie.

Yestreen as I wandered there a’ alane,
  I felt unco douf and drearie,
For wanting my Mary, a’ around me was but pain
  At the lanesome Wells o’ Wearie.

Let fortune or fame their minions deceive,
  Let fate look gruesome and eerie;
True glory and wealth are mine wi’ Mary Grieve,
  When we meet by the Wells o’ Wearie.

Then gang wi’ me, my bonnie Mary Grieve,
  Nae danger will daur to come near ye;
For I ha’e asked your minnie, and she has gi’en ye leave
  To gang to the Wells o’ Wearie.

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