The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING
I
Now Nature hangs her mantle greenOn every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea;
Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies:
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
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II
Now laverocks wake the merry morn,Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi' monie a note
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
III
Now blooms the lily by the bank,The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland
Maun lie in prison strang.
IV
I was the Queen o' bonie France,Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And monie a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands
And never-ending care.
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V
But as for thee, thou false woman,My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae!
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;
Nor th'balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
VI
My son! my son! my kinder starsUpon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!
VII
O! soon, to me, may summer sunsNae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
And, in the narrow house of death,
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||