Classic Poem

A GAIN the breeze blaws through the trees;
The flowers bloom by the burn, Willie:
Gay Spring is seen in fairy green—
The year nae mair shall mourn, Willie.

The tender buds hang on the woods,
An' lowly slaethorn tree, Willie;
Its blossom spreads, nor cauld blast dreads,
But may be nipt like me, Willie.

The frien'less hare is chas'd nae mair,
She whids alang the lea, Willie:
Thro' dewy show'rs the lav'rock tow'rs,
An' sings, but not for me, Willie.

When frae thy arms, a' nature's charms,
What pleasure can they gi'e, Willie?
My Spring is past, my sky o'ercast,
It's sleepless nights wi' me, Willie.

Silent an' shy, they now gae by,
That us'd to speak wi' me, Willie;
Nae tale, nae sang, the hale day lang—
It's a' for lovin' thee, Willie.

Wi' wily art ye wan my heart—
That heart nae mair is free, Willie:
Then, O be kind, sin' now it's thine!
I had nae mair to gi'e, Willie.

But vain I've pled, for thou hast wed,
A wealthier bride than me, Willie;
Now, nought can heal the wound I feel,
But lay me down an' die, Willie.

Fareweel ye braes, and happier days!
By crystal windin' Cree, Willie,
When o'er my grave the green grass waves,
O! wilt thou think on me, Willie?