The Highland Plaid (1)/Poor Mary
For other versions of this work, see Poor Mary (Fletcher).
POOR MARY.
Tune—A' body is like to get married but me.
I met my dear lassie short syne in yon dale,But deep was her sigh, and her click it was pale;And sad the saft smile that was heaven to see:Poor Mary, I fear, is unhappy like me.
A feverish heat has deprived o' their bloom,Her lips, ance sa rosy, exhaling perfume,And chang'd is the glance o' her blythe hazel ee,Poor Mary I fear, is unhappy like me.
'Twas thus a fair flow'ret adorn'd my walk,But chill blew the east on its tender green stalk;No more its sweet blossoms allure the wild bee,Poor Mary, I fear is unhappy like me.
If I were but destin'd to ca' her my ain,I'd shield her sae fondly frae sea, win, and rain;And nightly this bosom her pillow wad be;Poor Mary, I fear, is unhappy like me.
Detraction and malice—society's pest, I know 'tis your venom that pains her pure breast,But, oh for that haven, yont life's stormy sea,Where Mary, I trust, shall be happy wi' me.