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