7
My Mary Dear, &c.
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?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget?
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity can ne'er efface
Those records dear of transport past;
Thy image, at our last embrace,
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last.
Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd its 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 ev'ry 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,
