O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,And loud the tempest’s roar;A waefu’ wanderer seeks thy tower,Lord Gregory, ope thy door.An exile frae her father’s ha’,And a’ for loving thee;At least some pity on me shaw,If love it may na be.8
Lord Gregory, mind’st thou not the groveBy bonie Irwine side,Where first I own’d that virgin loveI lang, lang had denied.How aften didst thou pledge and vowThou wad for aye be mine!And my fond heart, itsel’ sae true,It ne’er mistrusted thine.16
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,And flinty is thy breast:Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,O, wilt thou bring me rest!Ye mustering thunders from above,Your willing victim see;But spare and pardon my fause Love,His wrangs to Heaven and me.24