Lord Gregory
18th Century
Child Ballad 76
O mirk, mirk is the midnight hour,
And loud the tempests roar,
A waefu' wand'rer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Greg'ry ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
An a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,
By bonnie Irvine-side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied.
How often didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wouldst for aye be mine?
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heav'n, that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!
But spare, and pardon my false love
His wrongs to heav'n and me.
DayPoems Poem No. 2522
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/2522.html">Lord Gregory by Anonymous</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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