The Book of Scottish Song/Mary, O

Mary, O.

[Tune, "Gloomy winter's now awa'."]

Trilling Harp, come let us sing,
Come let me brace ilk gowden string,
And warble owre some bonnie spring,
In praise o' my sweet Mary, O.
The lay along let sweetly move,
Freely let the love-notes rove,
Peerless, yea, resound my love,
My blythe, my bonnie Mary, O.
For O she's handsome, sweet, and fair,
Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare;
Ne'er shall maid wi' her compare,
My blythe, my darling Mary, O.

Though Burns divine, in rapture keen,
Sang sweetly o' his "Bonnie Jean,"
She scarcely e'er in shape or mien,
Could match my bonnie Mary, O.
Though Tannahill in numbers fain,
Extoll'd his "Jessie o' Dumblane,"
And though her praises charm ilk swain,
Excell'd she's now by Mary, O.
O had thae twa sweet bards but seen
This blooming maid o' bonnie mien,
They'd tuned her heavenly lyres I ween,
And peerless made my Mary, O.

Ye powers aboon, guard frae harms
The maid whase smile my bosom warms,
And lang endow'd wi' rowth o' charms,
Let bloom my bonnie Mary, O.
O guide her through this dreary vale
O' sorrow, trouble, woe, and wail,
And heaven-ward when she soars, entail
Eternal bliss on Mary, O.
For she's handsome, sweet, and fair,
Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare;
Ne'er shall maid wi' her compare,
My blythe, my darling Mary, O.

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