Allan by his grief excited, 
Long the victim of despair,
Thus deplor'd his passion slighted, 
Thus address'd the scornful fair;
Fife and a' the lands about it, 
Undesiring I can see;
Joy may crown my days without it, 
Not, my charmer, without thee.

Must I then forever languish, 
Still complaining, still endure;
Can her form create an anguish, 
Which her soul disdains to cure!
Why, by hopeless passion fated, 
Must I still those eyes admire,
Whilst unheeded, unregretted, 
In her presence I expire.