Robert Tannahill

* * *

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.