#ScottishWriters
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wild woods grow and rivers r…
THE FRIEND whom, wild from Wi… The fumes of wine infuriate send, (Not moony madness more astray) Who but deplores that hapless frie… Mine was th’ insensate frenzied pa…
YE sons of old Killie, assembled… To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce… To sit in that honoured station. I’ve little to say, but only to pr…
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows—tree. Chorus:
O Thou, the first, the greatest f… Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever b… Their stay and dwelling place! Before the mountains heav’d their…
Coming thro’ the rye, poor body, Coming thro’ the rye, She draiglet a’ her petticoatie Coming thro’ the rye. O, Jenny’s a’ wat, poor body;
YON wandering rill that marks the… And glances o’er the brae, Sir, Slides by a bower, where mony a fl… Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir; There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay,
'TIS Friendship’s pledge, my you… Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralising Muse. Since thou, in all thy youth and c…
A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation; And secret hung, with poison’d cru… The dirk of Defamation: A mask that like the gorget show’d…
O RAGING Fortune’s withering b… Has laid my leaf full low, O! O raging Fortune’s withering blas… Has laid my leaf full low, O! My stem was fair, my bud was green…
REVERED defender of beauteous… Of Stuart, a name once respected; A name, which to love was the mark… But now 'tis despis’d and neglecte… Tho’ something like moisture congl…
ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.W… And are ye hale, and weel and cant… I ken’d it still, your wee bit jau… Wad bring ye to: Lord send you aye as weel’s I wan…
ALTHO’ he has left me for greed… I dinna envy him the gains he can… I rather wad bear a’ the lade o’ m… Than ever hae acted sae faithless…
The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rou… And blasted by thy murder—aiming e… May never pity soothe thee with a… Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel… Go live, poor wanderer of the wood…