Marion Graham

Awake, my bonny Marion Graham,
And see this scene before it closes,
The eastern lift is a' on flame,
And a' besprinkled o'er wi' roses ;
It is a sight will glad your ee,
A sight my Marion loes to see.

Here are the streaks of gowden light.

Fair as my Marion's locks o' yellow ;
And tints of blue as heavenly bright
As smile within her ee sae mellow ;
Her cheeks, young roses, even seem
To dimple in yon heavenly beam.

Awake, my bonny Marion Graham,
Ye never saw sae bright adorning ;
I canna bear that my sweet dame
Should lose the pleasures o' this morning
For what wad a' its beauties be
Without some likeness unto thee?

I see thee in the silver stream,
The budding rose, and gracefu' willow ;
I see thee in yon morning beam,
And beauty of the glowing billow ;
I see thy innocence and glee
In every lamb that skims the lea.

And could you trow it, lovely May,
I see thee in the hues of even ,
Thy virgin bed the milky way,
Thy coverlet the veil of heaven !
There have I seen a vision dim
Hush'd by an angel's holy hymn.

And, Marion, when this morn, above
The gates of heaven, I saw advancing
The morning's gem — the star of love,
My heart with rapture fell a-dancing ;
Yet I in all its rays could see,
And all its glories, only thee.

Ah ! Marion Graham ! 'tis e'en ower true,
And Gude forgie my fond devotion !

In earth's sweet green, and heaven's blue,
And all the dyes that deck the ocean,
The scene that brings nae mind o' the?

Has little beauty to my ee.

Get up, ye little wily knave !

I ken your pawky jinks an' jeering,
You like to hear your lover rave,
An' gar him trow ye dinna hear him ;
Yet weel this homage you'll repay, —
Get up, my love, an' come away !