BONNY WINSOME MARY. Written to a Gaelic air. ___ FORTUNE, frowning most severe, Forc’d me from my native
dwelling, Parting with my friends so
dear, Cost me many a bitter tear: But, like the clouds of early
day, Soon my sorrows fled away, When blooming sweet, and
smiling gay, I met my winsome Mary. Wha can sit wi’ gloomy brow, Blest wi’ sic a charming
lassie? Native scenes I think on you, Yet the change I canna’ rue; Wandr’ing many a weary mile, Fortune seem’d to lowr the
while, But now she’s gi’en me, for the
toil, My bonny winsome Mary. Tho’ our riches are but few, Faithfu’ love is ay a treasure Ever cheery, kind an’ true, Nane but her I e’er can lo’e; Hear me a’ ye pow’rs above! Pow’rs of sacred truth and
love! While I live I’ll constant
prove, To my dear winsome Mary. |