The Clear Winding Ayr

Source: Where Songs Do Thunder by Paddy Tunney

Location: New Edition, page 101 / 102

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In green Caledonia there were ne’er were two lovers 

So enraptured and happy in each other’s arms,

As Burns, the sweet bard, and his dear Highland Mary,

As fondly and sweetly he sang of her charms.

And long may his song, so enchanting and bonnie

Be heard with delight on his own native plains,

And long will the name of his dear Highland Mary

Be sacred to love in such heart-melting strains.

Oh, it was a May day and the flowers of the summer

Were blooming in wildness all, lovely and fair

When our two lovers met in a grove of green bowers,

Which grew on banks of the clear, winding Ayr.

And oh, to them both ’twas a meeting full tender,

As it was the last for a while they could hae,

So in love’s purest raptures they feasted together

Till the red setting sun showed the close of the day.

‘Oh Mary, dear Mary’, exclaimed her fond lover,

‘You carry my heart to the highlands with thee.

Every burn, every grove, every bank and green bower

May talk of the love of my lassie and me.

My life’s sweetest treasure, my own charming Mary, 

To thee will I be ever devoted and true,

For the heart that is beating so hard in this bosom 

Is a heart that can never love any but you.

‘Oh, dinna bide long in the Highlands, my Mary,

Oh, dinna bide long in the Highlands from me,

For I thee sincerely, I love thee o’er dearly

To be happy so far, my dear Mary from thee.’

‘I winna bide long, my dear lad, in the Highlands,

I canna bide long, for you winna be there.

Altho’ I have friends I love well in the Highlands,

The ane I love best’s on the clear, winding Ayr!’

Then he kissed her fond lips that were redder than roses,

And strained her lily-white breast to his heart.

And his tears fell like dew-drops at e’en on her bosom,

And she said ‘My fond lover, alas we must part.’

‘Then farewell’ cried Burns and he flew from his Mary;

‘Oh, farewell’ said Mary, she could nay say mair.

Oh, little they kenned they had parted forever,

When they parted that night for the clear, winding Ayr.

Yet the green summer saw but a few sunny hours

‘Till she, in the bloom of her beauty and pride

Was laid in the grave like a bonnie young flower

In cold Greenock Kirkyard, on the banks of the Clyde.

And Burns the sweet bard of his own Caledonia

Lamented his Mary in many a sad strain,

And sore did he weep for his dear Highland lassie,

And n’er did his heart love so deeply again.

Then bring me the lilies and bring me the roses,

And bring me the daisies that grow in the dale.

And bring me the dew of a fine summer’s evening,

And bring me the breath of a sweet-scented gale.

Oh, bring me the sigh of a fond lover’s bosom,

And bring me the tear of a fond lover’s e’e,

And I’ll pour them all down on your grave, Highland Mary,

For the sake of thy Burns who so dearly loved thee.

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