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

When Lent and Responsions are end… When May with fritillaries waits, When the flower of the chestnut is… When drags are at all of the gates (Those drags the philosopher 'slat…

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…

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,

‘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,

‘Annan water’s wading deep, And my love Annie’s wondrous bonn… And I am laith she suld weet her… Because I love her best of ony. ‘Gar saddle me the bonny black,—

Ah, mystic child of Beauty, namel… Dateless and fatherless, how long… A Greek, with some rare sadness o… Shaped thee, perchance, and quite… Or Raphael thy sweetness did best…

The painted Briton built his moun… And left his celts and clay, On yon fair slope of sunlit ground That fronts your garden gay; The Roman came, he bore the sway,

There liv’d twa sisters in a bower… Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. There liv’d twa sisters in a bower… Stirling for aye: The youngest o’ them, O, she was…

ON Calais Sands the gray began, Then rosy red above they gray; The morn with many a scarlet van Leaped, and the world was glad wit… The little waves along the bay

Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better staid a… For Mitchell o Winfield he is dea… And my son Johnie is prisner tane… With my fa ding diddle, la la dew…

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!

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…

The ferox rins in rough Loch Awe, A weary cry frae ony toun; The Spey, that loups o’er linn an… They praise a’ ither streams aboon… They boast their braes o’ bonny D…

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…