Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usherest in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary ! dear, departed shade !
Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met 
To live one day of parting love ?
Eternity will not efface 
Those records dear of transports past ;
Thy image at our last embrace !
Ah! little thought we 't was our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene .
The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaimed the speed of wingéd day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care ;
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary ! dear, departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?