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　　The Last Time I Came O'er The Moor

　　The last time I came o'er the moor,

　　And left Maria's dwelling,

　　What throes, what tortures passing cure,

　　Were in my bosom swelling:

　　Condemn'd to see my rival's reign,

　　While I in secret languish;

　　To feel a fire in every vein,

　　Yet dare not speak my anguish.

　　Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I

　　Fain, fain, my crime would cover;

　　Th' unweeting groan, the bursting sigh,

　　Betray the guilty lover.

　　I know my doom must be despair,

　　Thou wilt nor canst relieve me;

　　But oh, Maria, hear my prayer,

　　For Pity's sake forgive me!

　　The music of thy tongue I heard,

　　Nor wist while it enslav'd me;

　　I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,

　　Till fear no more had sav'd me:

　　The unwary sailor thus, aghast,

　　The wheeling torrent viewing,

　　'Mid circling horrors yields at last

　　To overwhelming ruin. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns