There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the King o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lass, his dautie and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction nae words can express. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AFRICAN CHIEF by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT GREEK SONG: 1. THE STORM OF DELPHI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT TO GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, ESQ., ON SEEING HIS PICTURE ... by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE STRICKEN HART by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NOW COMES THE NIGHT by HERBERT GERHARD BRUNCKEN |