1791

lament of mary, queen of scots, on the approach of spring

now nature hangs her mantle green

on every blooming tree,

and spreads her sheets o' daisies white

out o'er the grassy lea;

now phoebus cheers the crystal streams,

and glads the azure skies;

but nought can glad the weary wight

that fast in durance lies.

now laverocks wake the merry morn

aloft on dewy wing;

the merle, in his noontide bow'r,

makes woodland echoes ring;

the mavis wild wi' mony a note,

sings drowsy day to rest:

in love and freedom they rejoice,

wi' care nor thrall opprest.

now blooms the lily by the bank,

the primrose down the brae;

the hawthorn's budding in the glen,

and milk-white is the slae:

the meanest hind in fair scotland

may rove their sweets amang;

but i, the queen of a' scotland,

maun lie in prison strang.

i was the queen o' bonie france,

where happy i hae been;

fu' lightly raise i in the morn,