Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

415 . Song—The last time I cam 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.