#ScottishWriters
A Tale 'Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s… That bears the name o’ auld King… Upon a bonie day in June, When wearin’ thro’ the afternoon,
My love, she’s but a lassie yet, My love, she’s but a lassie yet! We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet! I rue the day I sought her, O!
FAREWEEL to a’ our Scottish fa… Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish nam… Sae fam’d in martial story. Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, And you, tho’ scarce in maiden pri… Are so much nearer Heaven. No gifts have I from Indian coast…
LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands… He aften did assist ye; For had ye staid hale weeks awa, Your wives they ne’er had miss’d y… Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pre…
Nae lark in transport mounts the s… Or leaves wi’ early plaintive cry, But I will bid a last good—bye, My last farewell to Stirling O. Chorus:
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arriv… Thou goest, the darling of my hear… Sever’d from thee, can I survive, But Fate has will’d and we must p… I’ll often greet the surging swell…
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…
WHAT dost thou in that mansion f… Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, The picture of thy mind. ———No Stewart art thou, Galloway,
WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed… The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddi… Willie was a wabster gude, Could stown a clue wi’ ony body: He had a wife was dour and din,
My heart is a—breaking, dear Titt… Some counsel unto me come len’; To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fello…
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…
WHERE Cart rins rowin’ to the s… By mony a flower and spreading tre… There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. O, I had wooers aught or nine,
WHEN o’er the hill the eastern s… Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrow’d field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn, where birken bud…
ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, And waste my soul with care; But ah! how bootless to admire, When fated to despair! Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,