The Day returns, my bosom burns;
  The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
  Ne’er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,
  And crosses o’er the sultry line,—
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,
  Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine.

While day and night can...