#ScottishWriters
(Whan the dear doctor, dear to a’, Was still amang us here belaw, I set my pipes his praise to blaw Wi’ a’ my speerit; But noo, Dear Doctor! he’s awa’,
FAREWELL, and when forth I through the Golden Gates to Go… Steer without smiling, through the… Isle upon isle, in the seas of the… Isle upon island, sea upon sea,
HAD I the power that have the wi… The enfeebled will– a modern curse… This book of mine should blossom s… A perfect garden—ground of verse. White placid marble gods should ke…
Sing me a song of a lad that is go… Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
About my fields, in the broad sun And blaze of noon, there goeth one… Barefoot and robed in blue, to sca… With the hard eye of the husbandma… My harvests and my cattle. Her,
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore… Sing truer or no longer sing! No more the voice of melancholy J… To wake a weeping echo in the hill… But as the boy, the pirate of the…
Birds all the summer day Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour—like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork
The human conscience has fled of l… domain of conduct for what I shoul… less congenial field of art: there… rage, and with special severity in… so that in every novel the letters…
From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long—syne, Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it,
I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my… But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say…
GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we t… To enjoy our days set wholly free; To the true life together bend our… And take a furlough from the false… No rich saloon, nor palace of the…
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 —
For the long nights you lay awake And watched for my unworthy sake: For your most comfortable hand That led me through the uneven lan… For all the story—books you read:
STRANGE are the ways of men, And strange the ways of God! We tread the mazy paths That all our fathers trod. We tread them undismayed,