#Scots #XIXCentury #XXCentury #BalladesYRhymes
The call of homing rooks, the shri… Song of some bird that watches lat… The cries of children break the st… Sad twilight by the churchyard gat… And o’er your far-off tomb the gre…
The wail of Moschus on the mounta… The Muses heard, and loved it lon… They heard the hollows of the hill… They heard the weeping water’s ove… They winged the sacred strain—the…
Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You’ll burn your fingers at the fe… And howl like other folks that fry… All evil folks that love a lie!
Dark, dark was the day when we loo… And chill was the mist drop that c… The oats of the harvest hung heavy… No light on the land and no wind o… There was wind, there was rain, th…
In the Aves of Aristophanes, the Bird Chorus declare that they are older than the Gods, and greater benefactors of men. This idea recurs in almost all savage mythologies, and I have ma...
‘O wha will shoe my fu’ fair foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will lace my middle jimp, Wi’ the new-made London band? ‘And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
When strawberry pottles are common… Ere elms be black, or limes be ser… When midnight dances are murdering… Then comes in the sweet o’ the yea… And far from Fleet Street, far fr…
Here be the fairest homes the land… The silvery-cliffed Colonus; alwa… The nightingale doth haunt and sin… For well the deep green gardens do… Groves of the God, where winds ma…
Just one cast more! how many a yea… Beside how many a pool and stream, Beneath the falling leaves and ser… I’ve sighed, reeled up, and dreame… Dreamed of the sport since April…
St. Andrews by the Northern sea, A haunted town it is to me! A little city, worn and grey, The grey North Ocean girds it rou… And o’er the rocks, and up the bay…
Homer, thy song men liken to the s… With all the notes of music in its… With tides that wash the dim domin… Of Hades, and light waves that la… Around the isles enchanted; nay, t…
My Love dwelt in a Northern land. A gray tower in a forest green Was hers, and far on either hand The long wash of the waves was see… And leagues on leagues of yellow s…
Foul fa’ the breast first treason… That Liddesdale may safely say: For in it there was baith meat and… And corn unto our geldings gay. We were stout-hearted men and true…
O Rose the Red and White Lilly, Their mother dear was dead, And their father married an ill wo… Wishd them twa little guede. Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
HAD cigarettes no ashes, And roses ne’er a thorn, No man would be a funker Of whin, or burn, or bunker. There were no need for mashies,