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THE EPITAPH

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown ;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heaven, 't was all he wish’d, a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

T. Gray

CXLVIII

MARY MORISON

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MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see
That make the miser's treasure poor :
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw :

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
‘Ye are na Mary Morison.'

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

R. Burns

CXLIX

BONNIE LESLEY O SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever ;
For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;

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He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say “I canna wrang thee !'

The Powers aboon will tent thee;

Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely

That ill they 'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

R. Burns

CL

O

That 's newly sprung in June : O my Luve 's like the melodie

That 's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry :

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve !

And fare thee weel awhile ! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

R. Burns.

CLI

HIGHLAND MARY

Y the castle o' Montgomery,

E banks and braes and streams around

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry ;
For there I took the last fareweel

O’my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasp'd her to my bosom! The golden hours on angel wings

Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace

Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;
But, O! fell Death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green 's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary !

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly !
And closed for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly ;

And mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that lo'ed me dearly !
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

R. Burns

CLII

AULD ROBIN GRAY

WHEN

HEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at

hame,
And a' the warld to rest are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a croun he had naething else beside :
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa’ a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown

awa; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; I toild day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; Auld Rob maintain’d them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!

My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ;
His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, Wae 's me ?

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