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