Returning from what other seas Dost thou renew thy murmuring, Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of… To tell, the shores where float an… My love, my hope, my memories?

Money taketh town and wall, Fort and ramp without a blow; Money moves the merchants all, While the tides shall ebb and flow… Money maketh Evil show

‘Rise up, rise up now, Lord Dougl… ‘And put on your armour so bright; Let it never be said that a daught… Was married to a lord under night. ’Rise up, rise up, my seven bold s…

In schomer, when the leves spryng, The bloschems on every bowe, So merey doyt the berdys syng Yn wodys merey now. Herkens, god yemen,

1731 BEAUTIFUL face of a child, Lighted with laughter and glee, Mirthful, and tender, and wild, My heart is heavy for thee!

‘What bluid’s that on thy coat lap… Son Davie! Son Davie! What bluid’s that on thy coat lap? And the truth come tell to me, O.… ‘It is the bluid of my great hawk,

Late at e’en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing. ‘Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,

Here stand my books, line upon lin… They reach the roof, and row by ro… They speak of faded tastes of mine… And things I did, but do not, kno… Old school books, useless long ago…

Ye giant shades of RA and TUM, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian,

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…

Some speak of lords, some speak of… And sic like men of high degree; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Some time call’d Laird of Gilnock… The king he writes a loving letter…

In torrid heats of late July, In March, beneath the bitter bise… He book-hunts while the loungers f… He book-hunts, though December fr… In breeches baggy at the knees,

“And now am I greatly repenting t… ’Tis thought Odysseus when the st… With all the waves and wars, a wea… Grew restless in his disenchanted… And still would watch the sunset,…

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…

For thee soft crowns in thine untr… I wove, my lady, and to thee I be… Thither no shepherd drives his flo… Nor scythe of steel has ever labou… Nay, through the spring among the…