As I came in by Dunidier, An doun by Netherha, There was fifty thousand Hielanme… A marching to Harlaw. (Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie dr…

‘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,—

Villanelle, why art thou mute? Hath the singer ceased to sing? Hath the Master lost his lute? Many a pipe and scrannel flute On the breeze their discords fling…

Willie has ta’en him o’er the faem… He’s wooed a wife, and brought her… He’s wooed her for her yellow hair… But his mother wrought her meikle… And meikle dolour gar’d her dree,

Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane… Wi ribbons in her hair; The king thought mair o Marie Ham… Than ony that were there. Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane…

The winter is upon us, not the sno… The hills are etched on the horizo… The skies are iron grey, a bitter… The meagre cloudlets shudder to an… One yellow leaf the listless wind…

Between the moonlight and the fire In winter twilights long ago, What ghosts we raised for your des… To make your merry blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we gr…

Now the light of the sun, in the n… Shines, and their city is girt wit… And deep is the shade of the woods… Sings of the sea, and is sweet fro… Green is their garden and orchard,…

Now the bright crocus flames, and… The slim narcissus takes the rain, And, straying o’er the mountain’s… The daffodilies bud again. The thousand blossoms wax and wane

Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch, Doun by the hill of Banochie, Allangst the lands of Garioch. Grit pitie was to heir and se The noys and dulesum hermonie,

‘It’s narrow, narrow, make your be… And learn to lie your lane: For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair A… A braw bride to bring hame. Wi her I will get gowd and gear;

My Love dwelt in a Northern land. A gray tower in a forest green Was hers, and far on either hand The long wash of the waves was see… And leagues on leagues of yellow s…

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,

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…

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…