I went to the mill, but the miller… I sat me down, and cried ochone! To think on the days that are past… Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain… Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,

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…

I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves Among the shining salmon-flies; A song for summer-time that grieve… I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves… Between grey sea and golden sheave…

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?

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,

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…

Of all Gods Death alone Disdaineth sacrifice: No man hath found or shown The gift that Death would prize. In vain are songs or sighs,

In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to… But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely. For thro his shoulder he put a bor…

Fair islands of the silver fleece, Hoards of unsunned, uncounted gold… Whose havens are the haunts of Pe… Whose boys are in our quarrel bold… OUR bolt is shot, our tale is tol…

Not Jason nor Medea wise, I crave to see, nor win much lore, Nor list to Orpheus’ minstrelsies… Nor Her’cles would I see, that o’… The wide world roamed from shore t…

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…

Hither, come hither, ye Clouds re… Come, though ye dwell on the sacre… Or whether ye dance with the Nere… Or whether your golden urns are di… Or whether you dwell by Mæotis me…

A pleasant land is Scribie, where The light comes mostly from below, And seems a sort of symbol rare Of things at large, and how they g… In rooms where doors are everywher…

The incident is from the Love Sto… The daughter of the Lesbian king Within her bower she watched the w… Far off she heard the arrows ring, The smitten harness ring afar;

DEAD, with their eyes to the foe… Dead, with the foe at their feet; Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of…