Her plighted troth as light as wind.
O Mary, dearer than the day
That cheers the nighted wanderer's ee,
Through ance-loved scenes I lonely stray,
But lovely Mary's far frae me.
What now avails the beachen grove,
Or willow in its cloak o' gray,
Those scenes 'twas sacred ance to love,
Now fills my heart in grief and wae.
O Mary, &c.