The Book of Scottish Song/Thou'rt sair alter'd

Thou’rt sair alter’d.

[John Imlah.]

Thou'rt sair alter'd now, May,
Thou'rt sair alter'd now,
The rose is wither'd frae thy cheek,
The wrinkle's on thy brow;
And grey hath grown the locks o' jet,
Sae shining wont to be,
Thou alter'd sair,—but, May, thou'rt yet
The May o' yore to me.

Thy voice is faint and low. May,
That aft in former time
Hath woke the wild bird's envious chant,
The echo's amorous chime;
Thy e'e hath lost its early light,
My star in ither years,
That aye hath beam'd sae kindly bright,
To me through smiles and tears.

For a' the signs that show, May,
The gloamin' o' our day,
I lo'ed thee young—I lo'e thee yet,
My ain auld wifie, May;
Nae dearer hope ha'e I than this,
Beyond the day we die,
Thy charms shall bloom again to bless
My halidome on hie.

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