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

It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and caul… Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men,— ‘We maun draw to a hald. ’And whatna hald shall we draw to,

DARK Lily without blame, Not upon us the shame, Whose sires were to the Auld Alli… They, by the Maiden’s side, Victorious fought and died;

So Lucius prayed, and sudden, fro… Floated the locks of Isis, shone… Crown that is tressed with berry,… She came in deep blue raiment of t… Above her robes that now were snow…

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…

This life—one was thinking to-day, In the midst of a medley of fancie… Is a game, and the board where we… Green earth with her poppies and p… Let manque be faded romances,

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…

Alas, for us no second spring, Like mallows in the garden-bed, For these the grave has lost his s… Alas, for us no second spring, Who sleep without awakening,

Our youth began with tears and sig… With seeking what we could not fin… Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were…

There is a Heaven, or here, or th… A Heaven there is, for me and you… Where bargains meet for purses spa… Like ours, are not so far and few. Thuanus’ bees go humming through

Thine eyes are like the sea, my de… The wand’ring waters, green and gr… Thine eyes are wonderful and clear… And deep, and deadly, even as they… The spirit of the changeful sea

There lived a wife at Usher’s Wel… And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart s… And sent them oer the sea, They hadna been a week from her,

A. Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands Oh where have you been? They have slain the Earl of Murra… And they layd him on the green.

Mysterious Benedetta! who That Reynolds or that Romney drew Was ever half so fair as you, Or is so well forgot? These eyes of melancholy brown,

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,