Mary Lee's Lament

I dinna like the Meg-o'-mony-feet,

Nor the brawnet Conochworm,

Quoth Mary Lee, as she sat and did greet,

A-dadding wi' the storm.

Nowther like I the yellow-wymed ask,

'Neath the root o' yon aik tree,

Nor the hairy adders on the fog that bask;

But waur I like Robin-a-Ree.

Hatefu' it is to hear the whut-throat chark,

Frae out the auld taff-dike;

And wha likes the e'ening singing lark,

Or the auld moon-bowing tyke?

I hate them—and the ghaist at e'en

That points at me, puir Mary Lee!

But ten times waur hate I, I ween,

That vile chield, Robin-a-Ree.

Sourer than the green bullister,

Is a kiss o' Robin-a-Ree,

And the milk on the taed's back I wad prefer

To the poison on his lips that be.

Oh! ance I lived happy by yon bonnie burn—

The warld was in love wi' me;

But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn,

And curse black Robin-a-Ree.

Then whudder awa', thou bitter-biting blast,

And sough through the scrunty tree,

And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast,

And ne'er let the sun me see!

Oh! never melt awa', thou wreath o' snaw,

That's sae kind in graving me;

But hide me aye frae the scorn and guffaw

O' villains like Robin-a-Ree!