O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest’s roar; A waefu’ wanderer seeks thy tower, Lord Gregory, ope thy door. An exile frae her father’s ha’, And a’ for loving thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind’st thou not the grove By bonie Irwine side, Where first I own’d that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow Thou wad for aye be mine! And my fond heart, itsel’ sae true, It ne’er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, O, wilt thou bring me rest! Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see; But spare and pardon my fause Love, His wrangs to Heaven and me. Open The Door To Me, Oh Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, oh: The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh. The wan Moon is setting beyond the white wave, And Time is setting with me, oh: False friends, false love, farewell! for mair I’ll ne’er trouble them, nor thee, oh. She has open’d the door, she has open’d it wide, She sees the pale corse on the plain, oh: “My true love!” she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, oh. Lovely Young Jessie True hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr; But by the sweet side o’ the Nith’s winding river, Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain, Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, And sweet is the lily, at evening close; But in the fair presence o’ lovely young Jessie, Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; Enthron’d in her een he delivers his law: And still to her charms she alone is a stranger; Her modest demeanour’s the jewel of a’. Meg O’ The Mill O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten, An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten? She gotten a coof wi’ a claut o’ siller, And broken the heart o’ the barley Miller. The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady; The laird was a widdifu’, bleerit knurl; She’s left the gude fellow, and taen the churl.