The Highland Plaid (4)/From Night Till Morn
For other versions of this work, see From Night to Morn.
BROM NIGHT TILL MORN.
From night till morn I take my glass,In hopes to forget my Chloe,But though I take the pleasant draught,She's ne'er the less before me,Ah no, no, no wine cannot cureThe pain I endure for my Chloe.
To wine I flew to ease the pain,her beauteous charms created,But wine more firmly bound the chain,and love would not be cheated.