 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
MARY.
I've known my share o' warldly care,
And poverty is ay my lot;
But, Mary, when on thee I gaze,
Dull care and puirtith are forgot:
Thou art the sweet'ner o' my life;
Thou art Golconda's wealth to me;
And by thy bosom, pure as white,
I'll love thee, Mary, till I die!
And poverty is ay my lot;
But, Mary, when on thee I gaze,
Dull care and puirtith are forgot:
Thou art the sweet'ner o' my life;
Thou art Golconda's wealth to me;
And by thy bosom, pure as white,
I'll love thee, Mary, till I die!
197
O, were we on some desert Isle,
Where human foot ne'er trod before,
My arms shou'd be thy couch a' day,
And I wou'd gaze, and love thee more!
I'd shield thee frae ilk angry blast,
Thou dearest gem on earth to me!
For by thy speaking een, I swear,
To love thee, Mary, till I die!
Where human foot ne'er trod before,
My arms shou'd be thy couch a' day,
And I wou'd gaze, and love thee more!
I'd shield thee frae ilk angry blast,
Thou dearest gem on earth to me!
For by thy speaking een, I swear,
To love thee, Mary, till I die!
The lavrock hails the rising morn;
The gowdspink loes the thorny spray;
The cushat coos within the wood;
The plover seeks the pasture grey:
I envy these what these enjoy,
But hope ne'er wares a smile on me;
I hug the chain that gies me pain,
For I maun love thee, till I die!
The gowdspink loes the thorny spray;
The cushat coos within the wood;
The plover seeks the pasture grey:
I envy these what these enjoy,
But hope ne'er wares a smile on me;
I hug the chain that gies me pain,
For I maun love thee, till I die!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |