Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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MARY. |
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9
MARY.
“The night is mirk, the night is dark,
An' dreary is the moss;
I'll never see the ford's white mark,
Whare I the burn maun cross;
I'll mak my bed upon the heath,
An' in this wild moor tarry;
But cauld an' bitin' is the breath
O' the heavens upon Mary.
An' dreary is the moss;
I'll never see the ford's white mark,
Whare I the burn maun cross;
I'll mak my bed upon the heath,
An' in this wild moor tarry;
But cauld an' bitin' is the breath
O' the heavens upon Mary.
“An angry father's voice indeed,
Still tingles in mine ears;—
Tho' I've outstript the Falcon's speed,
I can't outstrip my fears:
I'll calm my fears on Willy's breast,
True love to him I carry;
An' whan I'm nestled there at rest,
Nane will be blest as Mary.”
Still tingles in mine ears;—
Tho' I've outstript the Falcon's speed,
I can't outstrip my fears:
I'll calm my fears on Willy's breast,
True love to him I carry;
An' whan I'm nestled there at rest,
Nane will be blest as Mary.”
10
She laid her on the withered fern,
While snawy drift flew past;
An' Death's white wreath (a dazzling cairn)
Was piled up by the blast:
Nae helping arm was nigh to save,
The muir was wild and dreary;—
Nae mortal haun' made the lone grave,
A snaw-wreath closed on Mary.
While snawy drift flew past;
An' Death's white wreath (a dazzling cairn)
Was piled up by the blast:
Nae helping arm was nigh to save,
The muir was wild and dreary;—
Nae mortal haun' made the lone grave,
A snaw-wreath closed on Mary.
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