MY MARY. Air--“ Invercauld’s Reel.” * * * * * * * * MY Mary is a bonny lassie, Sweet as dewy morn, When
fancy tunes her rural reed, Beside the upland thorn; She
lives ahint yon sunny knowe, Where
flow’rs in wild profusion grow, Where
spreading birks, an hazles throw Their shadows o'er
the burn. It’s
no’ the streamlet-skirted wood, Wi’ a’ its
leafy bow’rs, That
gars me wade in solitude Amang the wild-sprung flow’rs; But
aft I cast a langin’ e'e, Down
frae the bank out owre the lee, There
haply I my lass may see, As through the broom she scours. Yestreen
I met my bonny lassie Coming frae the town, We raptur'd sunk in ithers arms,
An’ prest the breckans down; The
pairtrick sung his e’ening note, The
rye-craik rispt his clam’rous throat, While
there the heav’nly vow I got That erl'd her my
own. |