What ails ye, bonnie Mary Lee?
What gars ye greet an' pine?
Your e'e is dim, your cheek is wan-
What ails ye, Mary, mine?
...
Matron fair, ripe, rich and glowing,
Full thy stores, thy vintage flowing;
Golden sunflowers, dahlias blowing,
Deck thy festal board.
...
A voice deep and solemn is sounding abroad;
Oh mothers of Britain! each humble abode
Should echo the burden with which it is fraught-
...
'My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, or rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise:
...
I'm a lamiter, Girzie, or I wad hae been
At the feast o' the mutches hauden yestreen
In the big City Ha'-the notion was gran':
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'Take physic, Pomp!' Look on that noble brow-
Of what avail thy garish splendours now-
The crown of Empire, worn for three short years,
...
To Britannia.
Nay, all this availeth thee nothing-
Thy prestige, thy power, and estate,
...
'Avaunt, away! dread shapes of hate and fear
That hover round me,' moan'd the dying Year:
'Dark treason, superstition, and misrule!
...
O Jeanie, my woman! whar is't ye are gaun,
Wi' a bairn on yer arm an' ane in yer haun?
There's snaw on the grun, an' nae shoon on yer feet,
...
Blow the trumpet, sound the doom,
Let the awful clangours boom
Through high heaven and earth below,
Through the gloomy realms of woe;
...