O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, <br />And loud the tempest's roar; <br />A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, <br />Lord Gregory, ope thy door. <br />An exile frae her father's ha', <br />And a' for loving thee; <br />At least some pity on me shaw, <br />If love it may na be. <br /> <br /> <br />Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove <br />By bonie Irwine side, <br />Where first I own'd that virgin love <br />I lang, lang had denied. <br />How aften didst thou pledge and vow <br />Thou wad for aye be mine! <br />And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, <br />It ne'er mistrusted thine. <br /> <br /> <br />Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, <br />And flinty is thy breast: <br />Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, <br />O, wilt thou bring me rest! <br />Ye mustering thunders from above, <br />Your willing victim see; <br />But spare and pardon my fause Love, <br />His wrangs to Heaven and me.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lord-gregory-a-ballad/
