The Mavis (1819, Falkirk)/Gramachree Molly

As down on Banna’s banks I ſtray’d,
one evening in May,
The little birds, in blithſome notes,
made vocal ev’ry ſpray;
They ſung their little tales of love,
they ſung them o’er and o’er:
Ah! gramachree, my cholleenouge,
ma Molly aſhtere.

The daily py’d, and all the ſweets
the dawn of nature yields;
The primroſe pale, and violet blue,
lay ſcattered o’er the fields:
Such fragrance in the boſom lies
of her whom I adore,
Ah! gramachree, &c.

I laid me down upon a bank,
bewailing my ſad fate,
That doom’d me thus the ſlave of love
and cruel Molly’s hate;
How can ſhe break the honeſt heart
that ⟨wears her⟩ in its core?
Ah! gramachree, &c.

​You ſaid you lov’d me, Molly dear,
ah! why did I believe!
Yet, who could think ſuch tender words
were meant but to deceive?
That love was all I aſk’d on earth,
this world could give no more:
Ah! gramachree, &c.

Oh! had I all the flocks that graze
on yonder yellow hill;
Or ’low’d for me the num’rous herds
that yen green paſtures fill,
With her I love I’d gladly ſhare
my kine and fleecy ſhore.
Ah! gramachree, &c.

Two turtle doves, above my head,
ſat courting on a bough;
I envy’d them their happineſs
to ſee them bill and coo;
Such fondneſs once for me ſhe ſhew’d,
but now, alas! ’tis o’er.
Ah! gramachree, &c.

Ye gentle winds, that ſoftly blow
along the verdant plain,
Go whiſper to my Strephon’s ear
his love’s return’d again: