Читать книгу Robert Burns: How To Know Him - William Allan Neilson - Страница 9

MARY MORISON

O Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!

Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor:

How blythely wad I bide the stoure, bear, struggle

A weary slave frae sun to sun,

Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string Last night

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', went

To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw:

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, fine

And yon the toast of a' the town, the other

I sigh'd, and said amang them a',

‘Ye are na Mary Morison.’

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?

Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee? fault

If love for love thou wilt na gie,

At least be pity to me shown!

A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.