Poetry Archives

Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
  An’ fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink, before I go,
  A service to my bonnie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith,
  Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
  And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
  The glittering spears are rankèd ready;
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
  The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it ’s no the roar o’ sea or shore
  Wad mak me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o’ war that ’s heard afar—
  It ’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!