O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, Lord Gregory, ope thy door. An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for loving thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove By bonnie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow Thou wad for aye be mine! And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, O, wilt thou bring me rest! Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see; But spare and pardon my fause Love, His wrangs to Heaven and me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHERMAN by RICHARD WATSON GILDER A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 63 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A ST. HELENA LULLABY by RUDYARD KIPLING JUDGE NOT by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER WORKING GIRLS by CARL SANDBURG TO JANE: THE INVITATION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY INGRATITUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |