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.

W'i mony a vow and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging oft to meet again,

We tore oursel's asunder;

But oh! fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now greens the sod, and caulds the clay.
That wraps my Highland Mary.

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I oft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

ROBERT BURNS.

FL

AFTON WATER.

(ADDRESSED TO HIS EARLY LOVE MARY).

LOW gently sweet Afton among thy green braes, Flow gently I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmering stream; Flow gently sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

How lofty sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far marked with the courses of dear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks, and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild ev'ning sweeps over the lea,
The sweet scented birks shade my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters, her snowy feet lave,
As gath'ring sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmering stream,
Flow gently sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

ROBERT BURNS.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

THO

HOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day,

When Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade,

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid,

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove? Where by the winding Ayr we met To live one day of parting love! Eternity can not efface

Those records dear of transports past, Thy image at our last embrace

Ah little thought we, 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,

O'er hung with wild woods thick'ning green,

The fragrant birch and hawthorne hoar,

Twined amorous 'round the raptured scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed, The birds sang love on every spray; Till too, too soon the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of wingéd day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time, but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear,
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid,

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

ROBERT BURNS.

WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES MY MARY?

VILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary

WIL

And leave auld Scotia's shore?

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

Across the Atlantic's roar?

O sweet grows the lime and the orange
And the apple on the pine;

But a' the charmes o' the Indies,
Can never equal thine.

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
the Heavens forget me

And sae may

When I forget my vow!

O plight me your faith my Mary,
And plight me your lilly-white hand;
O plight me your faith my Mary
Before I leave Scotia's strand.

We hae plighted our troth my Mary
In mutual affection to join,

And curst be the cause that shall part us,

The hour and the moment o' time!

ROBERT BURNS.