Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring
my sister and my fae,
grim vengea shall whet a sword
that thro' thy soul shall gae;
the weeping blood in woman's breast
was never known to thee;
nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
frae woman's pitying e'e.
my son! my son! may kiars
upon thy fortune shine;
and may those pleasures gild thy reign,
that ne'er wad blink on mine!
god keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
or turn their hearts to thee:
and where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
remember him for me!
o! soon, to me, may summer suns
nae ma
Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring(3/4)