#ScottishWriters
Bright is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said —
The Silver Ship, my King - that… In the bright islands whence your… The Silver Ship, at rest from win… Below your palace in your harbour… And the seafarers, sitting safe on…
Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a—floating,
Of all my verse, like not a single… But like my title, for it is not m… That title from a better man I st… Ah, how much better, had I stol’n…
At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing… And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl
In rigorous hours, when down the i… The redbreast looks in vain For hips and haws, Lo, shining flowers upon my window… The silver pencil of the winter dr…
Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story—books. Water now is turned to stone
All night long and every night, When my mama puts out the light, I see the people marching by, As plain as day before my eye. Armies and emperor and kings,
GO, little book– the ancient phra… And still the daintiest– go your w… My Otto, over sea and land, Till you shall come to Nelly’s ha… How shall I your Nelly know?
A mile an’ a bittock, a mile or tw… Abune the burn, ayont the law, Davie an’ Donal’ an’ Cherlie an’… An’ the mune was shinin’ clearly! Ane went hame wi’ the ither, an’ t…
YOU fear, Ligurra– above all, yo… That I should smite you with a st… This dreadful honour you both fear… Both all in vain: you fall below m… The Lybian lion tears the roaring…
NOW when the number of my years Is all fulfilled, and I From sedentary life Shall rouse me up to die, Bury me low and let me lie
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Whenever Auntie moves around, Her dresses make a curious sound, They trail behind her up the floor… And trundle after through the door…
Dear Andrew, with the brindled ha… Who glory to have thrown in air, High over arm, the trembling reed, By Ale and Kail, by Till and Twe… An equal craft of hand you show