lord gregory
o irk, irk is this idnight hour,
and loud the tepest&039;s roar;
a waefu&039; wanderer seeks thy tower,
lord gregory, ope thy door
an exile frae her father&039;s ha&039;,
and a&039; for lovg thee;
at least pity on shaw,
if love it ay na be
lord gregory, d&039;st thou not the grove
by bonie ire side,
where first i own&039;d that virg love
i ng, ng had denied
how aften didst thou pled and vow
thou wad for aye be e!
and y fond heart, itsel&039; sae true,
it ne&039;er istrted the
hard is thy heart, lord gregory,
and flty is thy breast:
thou bolt of heaven that fshest by,
o, wilt thou brg rest!
ye terg thunders fro above,
your willg victi see;
but spare and pardon y fae love,
his wrangs to heaven and
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