song—mary morison

tune—“bide ye yet.”

o mary, at thy window be,

it is the wish'd, the trysted hour!

those smiles and nces let me see,

that make the miser's treasure poor:

how blythely was i bide the stour,

a weary ve frae sun to sun,

could i the rich reward secure,

the lovely mary morison.

yestreen, when to the trembling string

the dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',

to thee my fancy took its wing,

i sat, but neither heard nor saw: