IN the opening verses of this poem-cum-song, Robert Burns attributes the wonderful description of a northern spring to Scotland's tragic queen (juxtaposed with her fretting about her own captivity).

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING

Now Nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white

Out o'er the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight

That fast in durance lies.

Now laverocks wake the merry morn,

Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bower,

Makes woodland echoes ring;

The mavis mild wi' many a note,

Sings drowsy day to rest:

In love and freedom they rejoice,

Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae;

The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

And milk-white is the slae:

The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove their sweets amang;

But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison strang.