Fortune, frowning most severe,
Forc'd me from my native dwelling,
Parting with my friends so dear,
Cost me many a bitter tear:
But, like the clouds of early day,
Soon my sorrows fled away,
When blooming sweet, and smiling gay,
I met my winsome Mary.

Wha can sit with gloomy brow,
Blest with sic a charming lassie?
Native scenes, I think on you.
Yet the change I canna rue;
Wand'ring many a weary mile,
Fortune seem'd to low'r, the while,
But now she's gi'en me, for the toil,
My bonny winsome Mary.

Though our riches are but few,
Faithful hove is aye a treasure-
Ever cheery, kind, and true,
Nane but her I e'er can lo'e.
Hear me, a' ye pow'rs above!
Pow'rs of sacred truth and love!
While I live I'll constant prove
To my dear winsome Mary.