craigieburn wood
    sweet fa's the eve on craigieburn,
    and blythe awakes the morrow;
    but a' the pride o' spring's return
    can yield me nocht but sorrow.
    i see the flowers and spreading trees,
    i hear the wild birds singing;
    but what a weary wight can please,
    and care his bosom wringing!
    fain, fain would i my griefs impart,
    yet dare na for your anger;
    but secret love will break my heart,
    if i conceal it langer.
    if thou refuse to pity me,
    if thou shalt love another,
    when yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
    around my grave they'll wither.
    versicles of 1795