My Mary.
[Robt. Tannnahill.— Air, "Invercauld's Reel."]
My Mary is a bonnie lassie,
Sweet as the dewy morn,
When Fancy tunes her rural reed,
Beside the upland thorn.
She lives ahint yon sunny knowe,
Where flow'rs in wild profusion grow,
Where spreading birks and hazels throw
Their shadows o'er the burn.
'Tis no the streamlet-skirted wood,
Wi' a' its leafy bow'rs,
That gars me wait in solitude
Among the wild-sprung flow'rs;
But aft I cast a langing e'e,
Down frae the bank out-owre the lea,
There haply I my lass may see,
As through the broom she scours.
Yestreen I met my bonnie lassie
Coming frae the town,
We raptur'd sunk in ither's arms
And prest the breckans down;
The pairtrick sung his e'ening note,
The rye-craik rispt his clam'rous throat,
While there the heav'nly vow I got,
That erl'd her my own.