song—mary morison
tune—“bide ye yet.”
o 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 was i bide the stour,
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,