 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
220
LORD GREGORY
I
O, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,And loud the tempest's roar!
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower—
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
II
An exile frae her father's ha',And a' for sake o' thee,
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
III
Lord Gregory mind'st thou not the groveBy bonie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love
I lang, lang had denied?
IV
How aften didst thou pledge and vow,Thou wad for ay be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
221
V
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,And flinty is thy breast:
Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!
VI
Ye mustering thunders from above,Your willing victim see,
But spare and pardon my fause love
His wrangs to Heaven and me!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |