O mirk, mirk is this
midnight
hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door!
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door!
Robert Burns
It was written for
Thomson. ]
I.
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander thro' the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.
II.
But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.
III.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.
IV.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
* * * * *
CLXXXVII.
LORD GREGORY.
[Dr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's collection, in
imitation of which Burns wrote his, and the Englishman complained,
with an oath, that the Scotchman sought to rob him of the merit of his
composition. Wolcot's song was, indeed, written first, but they are
both but imitations of that most exquisite old ballad, "Fair Annie of
Lochryan," which neither Wolcot nor Burns valued as it deserved: it
far surpasses both their songs. ]
I.
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door!
II.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
III.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
By bonnie Irwin-side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied?
IV.
How often didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for ay be mine;
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
V.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast--
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!
VI.
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!
But spare and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me!
* * * * *
CLXXXVIII.
MARY MORISON.
Tune--"_Bide ye yet. _"
["The song prefixed," observes Burns to Thomson, "is one of my
juvenile works.
Thomson. ]
I.
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander thro' the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.
II.
But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.
III.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.
IV.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
* * * * *
CLXXXVII.
LORD GREGORY.
[Dr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's collection, in
imitation of which Burns wrote his, and the Englishman complained,
with an oath, that the Scotchman sought to rob him of the merit of his
composition. Wolcot's song was, indeed, written first, but they are
both but imitations of that most exquisite old ballad, "Fair Annie of
Lochryan," which neither Wolcot nor Burns valued as it deserved: it
far surpasses both their songs. ]
I.
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door!
II.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
III.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
By bonnie Irwin-side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied?
IV.
How often didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for ay be mine;
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
V.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast--
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!
VI.
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!
But spare and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me!
* * * * *
CLXXXVIII.
MARY MORISON.
Tune--"_Bide ye yet. _"
["The song prefixed," observes Burns to Thomson, "is one of my
juvenile works.
