Mary Morison

O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish’d, the trysted hour
Those smiles and glances let me see
That make the miser’s treasure poor
How blithely wad I bide the stoure
A weary slave frae sun to sun
Could I the rich reward secure --
The lovely Mary Morison
Yestreen, when to trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted
To thee my fancy took its wing
I sat, but neither heard nor saw
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw
And yon the toast of a' the town
I sigh’d and sang amang them a': --
'lovely lovely Mary Morison!'