S —M M（1 / 1）

ng—ary orin

tune—“bide ye yet”

o ary, at thy dow be,

it is the wish&039;d, the trysted hour!

those siles and gnces let see,

that ake the iser&039;s treasure poor:

how blythely was i bide the stour,

a weary sve frae sun to sun,

uld i the rich reward secure,

the lovely ary orin

yestreen, when to the treblg strg

the dance gaed thro&039; the lighted ha&039;,

to thee y fancy took its g,

i sat, but neither heard nor saw:

tho&039; this was fair, and that was braw,

and yon the toast of a&039; the town,

i sigh&039;d, and said aong the a&039;,

“ye are na ary orin”

oh, ary, canst thou wreck his peace,

wha for thy sake wad gdly die?

or canst thou break that heart of his,

whase only faut is lovg thee?

if love for love thou wilt na gie,

at least be pity to shown;

a thought unntle canna be

the thought o&039; ary orin