The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Bonnie Mary.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Bonnie Mary.
Where Yarrow rows amang the rocks,
An' wheels an' boils in mony a linn,
A brisk young shepherd fed his flocks,
Unused to wranglement or din.
But love its silken net had thrown
Around his breast, so brisk an' airy;
An' his blue eyes wi' moisture shone.
As thus he sung of bonnie Mary.
An' wheels an' boils in mony a linn,
A brisk young shepherd fed his flocks,
Unused to wranglement or din.
But love its silken net had thrown
Around his breast, so brisk an' airy;
An' his blue eyes wi' moisture shone.
As thus he sung of bonnie Mary.
“O Mary, thou'rt sae mild and sweet,
My very being clings about thee;
This heart would rather cease to beat,
Than beat a lonely thing without thee.
I see thee in the evening beam—
A radiant, glorious apparition;
I see thee in the midnight dream,
By the dim light of heavenly vision.
My very being clings about thee;
This heart would rather cease to beat,
Than beat a lonely thing without thee.
I see thee in the evening beam—
A radiant, glorious apparition;
I see thee in the midnight dream,
By the dim light of heavenly vision.
“When over Benger's haughty head
The morning breaks in streaks sae bonnie,
I climb the mountain's velvet side,
For quiet rest I getna ony.
How dear the lair on yon hill cheek,
Where mony a weary hour I tarry!
For there I see the twisting reek
Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary.
The morning breaks in streaks sae bonnie,
I climb the mountain's velvet side,
For quiet rest I getna ony.
How dear the lair on yon hill cheek,
Where mony a weary hour I tarry!
For there I see the twisting reek
Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary.
“When Phœbus keeks out-o'er the muir,
His gowden locks a' streaming gaily;
When morn has breathed her fragrance pure,
An' life an' joy ring through the valley;
I drive my flocks to yonder brook,
The feeble in my arms I carry;
Then every lammie's harmless look
Brings to my mind my bonnie Mary.
His gowden locks a' streaming gaily;
When morn has breathed her fragrance pure,
An' life an' joy ring through the valley;
I drive my flocks to yonder brook,
The feeble in my arms I carry;
Then every lammie's harmless look
Brings to my mind my bonnie Mary.
“Oft has the lark sung o'er my head,
An' shook the dew-drops frae his wing;
Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed,
An' round their shepherd form'd a ring.
Their looks condole the lee-lang day,
While mine are fix'd and never vary,
Aye turning down the westlin' brae,
Where dwells my loved, my bonnie Mary.
An' shook the dew-drops frae his wing;
Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed,
An' round their shepherd form'd a ring.
Their looks condole the lee-lang day,
While mine are fix'd and never vary,
Aye turning down the westlin' brae,
Where dwells my loved, my bonnie Mary.
“When gloaming, creeping west the lift,
Wraps in deep shadow dell and dingle,
An' lads an' lasses mak a shift
To raise some fun around the ingle;
Regardless o' the wind or rain
With cautious step and prospect wary,
I often trace the lonely glen
To steal a sight o' bonnie Mary.
Wraps in deep shadow dell and dingle,
An' lads an' lasses mak a shift
To raise some fun around the ingle;
Regardless o' the wind or rain
With cautious step and prospect wary,
I often trace the lonely glen
To steal a sight o' bonnie Mary.
“When midnight draws her curtain deep,
An' lays the breeze amang the bushes;
An' Yarrow in her sounding sweep,
By rock and ruin raves and rushes;
Though sunk in deep and quiet sleep,
My fancy wings her flight so airy,
To where sweet guardian spirits keep
Their watch around the couch of Mary.
An' lays the breeze amang the bushes;
An' Yarrow in her sounding sweep,
By rock and ruin raves and rushes;
Though sunk in deep and quiet sleep,
My fancy wings her flight so airy,
To where sweet guardian spirits keep
Their watch around the couch of Mary.
“The exile may forget his home,
Where blooming youth to manhood grew;
The bee forget the honey-comb,
Nor with the spring his toil renew:
The sun may lose his light and heat,
The planets in their rounds miscarry;
But my fond heart shall cease to beat,
When I forget my bonnie Mary.”
Where blooming youth to manhood grew;
The bee forget the honey-comb,
Nor with the spring his toil renew:
The sun may lose his light and heat,
The planets in their rounds miscarry;
But my fond heart shall cease to beat,
When I forget my bonnie Mary.”
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |