There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the King o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lass, his dautie and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction nae words can express. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PALM TREE by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ELEGY BEFORE DEATH by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by WALT WHITMAN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 6. FAIR AND SOFTLY by PHILIP AYRES SORROWS AND CONSOLATIONS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TWELVE SONNETS: 10. THY WHITENESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ECHOES OF SPRING: 6 by MATHILDE BLIND HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 34 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |