 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
53
DESPAIRING MARY.
“Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow?
See a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw;
Blithe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of Jura,
Blithe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw!”
“How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure?
Simmer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane;
Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure,
Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.
See a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw;
Blithe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of Jura,
Blithe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw!”
“How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure?
Simmer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane;
Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure,
Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.
“This kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token;
Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake!
I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken;
Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break.
Sighing for him, I lie down in the e'ening,
Sighing for him, I awake in the morn;
Spent are my days a' in secret repining,
Peace to this bosom can never return.
Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake!
I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken;
Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break.
Sighing for him, I lie down in the e'ening,
Sighing for him, I awake in the morn;
Spent are my days a' in secret repining,
Peace to this bosom can never return.
“Oft have we wandered in sweetest retirement,
Telling our loves 'neath the moon's silent beam;
Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment,
But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing dream.
Cruel remembrance, ah! why wilt thou wreck me?
Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown;
Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me,
Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown!”
Telling our loves 'neath the moon's silent beam;
Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment,
But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing dream.
Cruel remembrance, ah! why wilt thou wreck me?
Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown;
Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me,
Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown!”
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |