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LORD GREGORY.

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 ay 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 dart of Heav'n that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!

But spare, and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me!

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THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast ','
The joyless winter-day,

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul,

My griefs it seems to join ;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

"Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil;

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy Will! Then all I want (O, do thou grant This one request of mine!) Since to enjoy thou dost deny, Assist me to resign.'

1 Dr. Young.

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