lord gregory

o mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,

and loud the tempest's roar;

a waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,

lord gregory, ope thy door.

an exile frae her father's ha',

and a' for loving thee;

at least some pity on me shaw,

if love it may na be.

lord gregory, mind'st thou not the grove

by bonie irwine side,

where first i own'd that virgin love

i lang, lang had denied.