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,
    as blythe lay down at e'en:
    and i'm the sov'reign of scotland,
    and mony a traitor there;
    yet here i lie in foreign bands,
    and never-ending care.
    but as for thee, thou false woman,
    my sister and my fae,
    grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword
    that thro' thy soul shall gae;
    the weeping blood in woman's breast
    was never known to thee;
    nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
    frae woman's pitying e'e.
    my son! my son! may kinder stars
    upon thy fortune shine;
    and may those pleasures gild thy reign,
    that ne'er wad blink on mine!
    god keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
    or turn their hearts to thee:
    and where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
    remember him for me!
    o! soon, to me, may summer suns
    nae mair light up the morn!
    nae mair to me the autumn winds
    wave o'er the yellow corn?
    and, in the narrow house of death,
    let winter round me rave;
    and the next flow'rs that deck the spring,
    bloom on my peaceful grave!