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Robert Burns - Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring
Work rating: Medium

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o` daises white 
Out o`er the grassy lea 
Now Pheebus 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 ai` mony a note, 
Sings drowsy day to reast 
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 my 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!
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