#ScottishWriters
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi’ saut tears tricklin down your… Our bardie’s fate is at a close, Past a’ remead! The last, sad cape-stane o’ his wo…
I’M now arrived’thanks to the g… Thro’ pathways rough and muddy, A certain sign that makin roads Is no this people’s study: Altho’ Im not wi’ Scripture cram’…
Here’s a health to them that’s awa… Here’s a health to them that’s awa And wha winna wish guid luck to ou… May never guid luck be their fa’! It’s guid to be merry and wise,
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer… For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro’ the…
THE BLUDE-RED rose at Yule m… The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest s… But an auld man shall never daunto… Refrain.'To daunton me, to daun…
Chorus:—Bonie wee thing, cannie w… Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel it should tine. Wishfully I look and languish
Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care? Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
Farewell to the Highlands, farewe… The birth-place of Valour, the co… Wherever I wander, wherever I rov… The hills of the Highlands for ev… My heart’s in the Highlands, my h…
WITH Pegasus upon a day, Apollo, weary flying, Through frosty hills the journey l… On foot the way was plying. Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus
THOU, who thy honour as thy God… Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nou… To thee this votive offering I im… The tearful tribute of a broken he… The Friend thou valued’st, I, the…
O Thou Great Being! what Thou ar… Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee sta…
John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bled, John,
Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e’er I sp… Are spent amang the lasses, O! There’s nought but care on every h…
As I was a—wand’ring ae morning i… I heard a young ploughman sae swee… And as he was singin’, thir words… There’s nae life like the ploughma… The lav’rock in the morning she’ll…
O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours… That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair