by Robert Burns (1759-1796)
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flow’rs,
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’ monie a vow, and lock’d embrace,
Our parting was fu’ tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder:
But, oh! fell death’s untimely frost,
That nipt my flower so 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 ha’e kiss’d sae fondly!
And clos’d 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.