craigieburn wood

  sweet fa's the eve on craigieburn,

  and blythe awakes the morrow;

  but a' the pride o' spring's 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 wringing!

  fain, fain would i my griefs impart,

  yet dare na 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 another,

  when yon green leaves fade frae the tree,

  around my grave they'll wither.

  versicles of 1795