craigieburn wood
  sweet fa's the eve on craigieburn,
  and blythe awakes the morrow;
  but a' the pride o' spring's return
  can yield me nocht but sorrow.
  i see the flowers and spreading trees,
  i hear the wild birds singing;
  but what a weary wight can please,
  and care his bosom wringing!
  fain, fain would i my griefs impart,
  yet dare na for your anger;
  but secret love will break my heart,
  if i conceal it langer.
  if thou refuse to pity me,
  if thou shalt love another,
  when yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
  around my grave they'll wither.
  versicles of 1795