Craigieburn Wood
Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn,And blythe awakes the morrow;But a’ the pride o’ Spring’s returnCan yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers and spreading trees,I hear the wild birds singing;But what a weary wight can please,And Care his bosom wringing!
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,Yet dare na for your anger;But secret love will break my heart,If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to pity me,If thou shalt love another,When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,Around my grave they’ll wither.
Versicles of 1795