Classic Poem

O WHEN the bonnie moon is fair,
An' clear the loch like siller spread,
An' heather-sweet the gloamin' air,
An' like a star thy flaxen head,
Why dost thou, Mary, make thy maen,
An' lean thy white brow on thy knee?
Why drop thy tears on heath an' stane,
Beneath the wavin' rowan tree?

There was a time when up the brae
Thy foot, licht as the roebuck's, sprang;
Thy bonnie een ne'er turned away,
Thy voice a gleesome welcome rang.
Thy lily hands why dost thou wring,
Nor turn to smile an' gaze on me,
When straight as lavrock's skyward wing
I seek the wavin' rowan tree?

There was a time thy leaf-soft cheek
Against the brown o' mine was laid;
From 'neath thy lily-lids did break
Sic love-licht looks, the mirky shade
O' nicht-fa', creepin' up the glen,
Did pause, as if 'twere fain to flee
Before some sudden sunrise, when
We trysted 'neath the rowan tree.

There was a time when, as I played
Wi' thy lang locks o' snooded gold,
Thy sma', saft fingers fondly stayed
Clasped on my plaidie's rugged fold;
There was, my Mary, once a day
Ilk hour — a honey-laden bee —
Slipped on the scented air away
From us beneath the rowan tree.

Now, Mary, when the moon is high,
Or when the gloamin's saft return,
I glide wi' thee the muirland by,
I seek wi' thee the glimmerin' burn;
I touch thy locks, thy lips I press,
Yet fast flow down thy tears for me,
E'en while thy white cheek I caress
Beneath the wavin' rowan tree.

An' is thy heart, my Mary, sair?
Tear-droukit a' thy locks o' gold?
An' paled thy roses red an' rare,
For me beneath the kirkyard mold?
O Mary, sair is heart o' mine,
For that thy blue een canna see
My spirit keep fond tryst wi' thine,
Beneath the wavin' rowan tree!

Oh, tears are saut an' love is long,
An' dear love's sorrow for the dead;
But love is true an' love is strong,
An' love's a flame forever fed!
Sae, Mary, while thy dear, pure tear
Rolls down sae swift for love o' me,
For love o' thee, unseen yet near,
I meet thee by the rowan tree.