#ScottishWriters
O Thou dread Power, who reign’st… I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and l… I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire —the mortal stroke…
THE NIGHT was still, and o’er… The moon shone on the castle wa’; The mavis sang, while dew-drops ha… Around her on the castle wa’; Sae merrily they danced the ring
MY Sandy gied to me a ring, Was a’ beset wi’ diamonds fine; But I gied him a far better thing… I gied my heart in pledge o’ his r… Chorus.—My Sandy O, my Sandy O,
AULD comrade dear, and brither s… How’s a’ the folk about Glenconne… How do you this blae eastlin wind, That’s like to blaw a body blind? For me, my faculties are frozen,
AE day, as Death, that gruesome c… Was driving to the tither warl’ A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad— Black gowns of each denomination,
Here awa’, there awa’, wandering,… Here awa’, there awa’, haud awa’ h… Come to my bosom, my ae only deary… Tell me thou bring’st me my Willi… Loud tho’ the winter blew cauld on…
O how shall I, unskilfu’, try The Poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours… That whisper, inspiration, Even they maun dare an effort mair
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran… The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drin… There’s mony godly folks are think… Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sink…
Scots, what hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
A Song of Similes Tune —‘If he be a Butcher neat an… On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and me… Our lasses a’ she far excels,
Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa… If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy ma… Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My sweet wee lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’…
WAE worth thy power, thou cursed… Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief… For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my las… For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glas… I see the children of affliction
Nae lark in transport mounts the s… Or leaves wi’ early plaintive cry, But I will bid a last good—bye, My last farewell to Stirling O. Chorus:
Tune —“The Braes o’ Balquhidder.… Chor. —And I’ll kiss thee yet, ye… And I’ll kiss thee o’er again: And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, My bonie Peggy Alison.
