Works

Draw back my curtains, Mary,
An' oppen t' windey wide;
Ay, ay, I know I'm deein',
While to-morn I'll hardlins bide.
But yit afore all's ovver,
An' I lig cowd as snow,...

But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Jane Elliot (1727-1805).


O! day-time is weary, an' dark o' dusk dreary...