Fairfa' the lasses (1)/To Mary in Heaven

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Thou ling'ring star with less’ning ray,
⁠That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher’st in the day
⁠My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary, dear departed shade!
⁠Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
⁠Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?——
⁠Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met
⁠To live one day pf parting love?
Eternity will not efface
⁠Those records dear of transports past,——
Thy image at our last embrace;——
⁠Ah! little thought we ’twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kiss’d his pebbled shore,
⁠O’erhung with wild woods, thick’ning, green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
⁠Twin'd am’rous round the raptur'd scene.
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
⁠The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
⁠Proclaim’d the speed of winged day.

Still o’er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
⁠And fondly broods with miser care;

Time but the impression stronger makes,
⁠As streams their deeper channels wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!
⁠Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
⁠Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?