LINES
Reading edition
IN HUMBLE IMITATION OF AN INIMITABLE SCOTTISH POET.
I would I were the slight fern growing Beneath my Highland Mary's tread; I would I were the green tree throwing Its shadow o'er her gentle head: I would I were a wild flower springing Where my sweet Mary loves to rest, That she might pluck me while she's singing, And place me on her snowy breast!
I would I were in yonder heaven, A silver star, whose soft dim light Would rise to bless each summer even, And watch my Mary all the night: I would beneath those small white fingers I were the lute her breath has fanned— The plaintive lute, whose soft note lingers, As loath to leave her fairy hand.
Ah, happy things! ye may not wander From Scotland to some darker sky, But ever live unchanging yonder, To happiness and Mary nigh; While I at midnight, sadly weeping, Upon its deep transparent blue Can only gaze, while all are sleeping, And dream my Mary watches too!