Robert Anderson

Mary

O Mary! when the wild wind blows,
And blasts the beauties o' the rose;
Thy coming fate to me it shews,
And I cou'd weep for Mary.
Aft has the blossom deck'd the tree,
Sin first thy glancin tell--tale ee
Confest a wee bit luive for me,
And I was smit wi' Mary.

O Mary! I hae loe'd thee lang;
Thou'rt ay the burthen o' my sang;
For day or night, where'er I gang,
I think o' nought but Mary.
When sleep seals up my wearied ee,
In dreams thy angel form I see;
And in fond raptures, say to thee,
O, dinna leave me, Mary!

O Mary! when the warl's unkind,
And poverty thraws me behind,
I ay can cheer my drooping mind
Wi' thoughts o' thee, sweet Mary;
For were I sick, and like to die,
Thy witching smile wad comfort me;
Then come what will, my wish shall be
For happiness to Mary.