A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
Of lovely Mary Morison!
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,—
I sat, but neither heard nor saw,
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And you the toast of a' the town,
I sighed, and said, amang them a',