As, to the pipe, with rhythmic fee… In windings of some old-world danc… The smiling couples cross and meet… Join hands, and then in line advan… So, to these fair old tunes of Fr…

“‘Dead and gone,’—a sorry burden o… Say, fair maids, maying In gardens green, In deep dells straying, What end hath been

Still sing the mocking fairies, as… Beneath the shade of thorn and hol… The west wind breathes upon them,… And wolves still dread Diana roam… In secret woodland with her compan…

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, Unto the Lawlan’ border, To steal awa a gay ladie To haud his house in order. He cam oure the lock o’ Lynn,

The level sands and grey, Stretch leagues and leagues away, Down to the border line of sky and… A spark of sunset burns, The grey tide-water turns,

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,

Let others praise analysis And revel in a “cultured” style, And follow the subjective Miss From Boston to the banks of Nile, Rejoice in anti-British bile,

When these Old Plays were new, th… Beside the Cardinal’s chair, Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring, The verses of Moliere; Point-lace was then the only wear,

‘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,

Down Deeside cam Inveraye Whistlin’ and playing, An’ called loud at Brackley gate Ere the day dawning— ‘Come, Gordon of Brackley.

Swift as sound of music fled When no more the organ sighs, Sped as all old days are sped, So your lips, love, and your eyes, So your gentle-voiced replies

(Clement Marot’s Frère Lubin, th… Some ten or twenty times a day, To bustle to the town with speed, To dabble in what dirt he may,— Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need…

Your hair and chin are like the ha… And chin Burne-Jones’s ladies wea… You were unfashionably fair In '83; And sad you were when girls are ga…

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,

I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow lo… An’ a cow low down in yon glen; Lang, lang will my young son greet… Or his mither bid him come ben. I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow lo…