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6
CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.
Sweet fa's eve on Craigie-burn,
And sweetly wakes the morrow.
But a' the pride o' springs return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom ringing.
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet darena for your anger,
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to pity me,
If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
Around my grave they'll weather.
