#ScottishWriters
The merry Spring, the bright, bri… What joys she shakes from her flow… When the young bird sings from its… How happy it sleeps on its loved o… How sweet to roam at beauty’s side…
Soldier of Poland! wherefore sigh… Freedom, though crushed, shall nev… Though for awhile her noble head Be trampled by the Cossack’s trea… Though the proud Russian lay her…
True thoughts, your days of grief… No more shall scorn or hate impede… Born in the light, wherever the su… Shines on mankind, mankind shall h… So grow, ye grains of mustard-seed…
By the red lightning rent and rive… And stretched along the plain, Can the tall oak extend to heaven Its gay green boughs again? Or when a star hath lost its track…
Hast thou forgotten her to whom You vowed such vows of truth, She who was dearest to thy heart In days of hope and youth? Dost thou forget the parting praye…
’Tis sweet, in the shade of the lo… In the dewy morning time, To hear the song of the joyous lar… Or the distant village chime; Or to sit and think,
Wind of the winter night, whence c… And whither, oh whither, art wande… Sad, sad is thy voice on this deso… And mournful, oh mournful, thy how… Say where hast thou been on thy cl…
There came a pilgrim to the gate, An aged man was he, And he sat him down upon a stone, And sighed most bitterly: The night was cold,-the fierce win…
Come, soul-inspiring Mirth, I’ll twine a wreath for thee, With flowers of spring-time birth, Born amid Nature’s glee: Born when the cuckoo sung
The loud blast leaps from wave to… Around our heads the thunders rave… And dark, dark is the midnight sky… Save when the lightning flashes hi… O! God whom we revere!
If thy bosom undaunted ne’er quail… Or feared to stand forth for the r… If thy doors were ne’er shut on th… Thy heart never false to its pligh… To thee we will drink, as a king a…
Earth heard the loud, the solemn s… And started from her utmost bound, And Darkness, on his ebon car, Spread his black wings, and fled a… The dun clouds opened with affrigh…
When the tempests fly O’er the cloudy sky, And the piping blast sings wearily… O! sweet is the mirth Of the social hearth,
O! for an eagle’s wings, To brave the rugged blast, In spite of wind and storm to soar O’er mount and meadow vast. O! that I might, like thee,
In the deep silence of the night, We come, O harvest moon, To dance beneath thy gentle light, To many a merry tune; We come, whilst thou in thoughtful…