#ScottishWriters
WHARE live ye, my bonie lass? And tell me what they ca’ ye; My name, she says, is mistress Je… And I follow the Collier laddie. My name, she says, &c.
O DEATH, had’st thou but spar’d… Whom we this day lament, We freely wad exchanged the wife, And a’ been weel content. Ev’n as he is, cauld in his graff,
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,
FRAE the friends and land I love… Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite; Frae my best belov’d I rove, Never mair to taste delight: Never mair maun hope to find
O THOU, in whom we live and move… Who made the sea and shore; Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore; And, if it please Thee, Power abo…
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll… Warring sighs and groans I’ll wag… Who shall say that Fortune grieve…
Chorus’Here’s a health to ane I… Here’s a health to ane I loe dear… Thou art sweet as the smile when f… And soft as their parting tear’… ALTHO’ thou maun never be mine,
It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed
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,
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferl… Your impudence protects you sairly… I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace; Tho’, faith! I fear ye dine but s…
ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…
IN wood and wild, ye warbling thr… Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of s… Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things arou…
PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay… As ever trod on airn; But now she’s floating down the N… And past the mouth o’ Cairn. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare…
O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline… Ye’re safer at your spinning-wheel… Such witching books are baited hoo… For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgi… Your fine Tom Jones and Grandiso…
“O cam ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra—moor, Or did the battle see, man?” “I saw the battle, sair and teugh