ROBERT BURNS

And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

��502. were my Love yon Lilac fair

WERE my Love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn

By autumn wild and winter rude ! But I wad sing on wanton wing

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

O gin my Love were yon red rose

That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel a drap o' dew,

Into her bonnie breast to fa* ; O there, beyond expression blest,

I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest,

Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.

��703. A Red, Red Rose

OMY Luve's like a red, red rose That *s newly sprung in June : O my Luve 's like the melodic That's sweetly play'd in tune!

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