craigieburn wood
sweet fa's the eve on craigieburn,
and blythe awakes the morrow;
but a' the pride o' spring's return
can yield me nocht but sorrow.
i see the flowers and spreading trees,
i hear the wild birds singing;
but what a weary wight can please,
and care his bosom wringing!
fain, fain would i my griefs impart,
yet dare na for your anger;
but secret love will break my heart,
if i conceal it langer.
if thou refuse to pity me,
if thou shalt love another,
when yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
around my grave they'll wither.
versicles of 1795