8
I've lain a towmond in the ground,
And yet my grave has ne'er been green,
While a' around wi' flowers abound,
For this I hae to thank your een.
What ! wad you hae me come again ?
Is aught in life sae sweet to prie ?
A bitter draught o' grief and pain,
It prov'd to Samuel Macaree.
Ere lang gae by we baith shall meet,
An' marry never to be twin'd—"
Here down I fell to kiss his feet,
But feint a foundit could I find,
Nor saw him mair, but i' my ear,
These words were harkit tenderly —
"Adieu my Ann, to mourn forbear,
Oh ! pity Samuel Macaree."
FINIS.
