Robert Burns (1759–1796)

YE banks and braes and streams around

The castle o’ Montgomery!

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie:

There Simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last Farewell

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 oh! 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 clos’d for aye, the sparkling glance

That dwalt 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.