#ScottishWriters
Tune —“Go from my window, Love, d… The sun he is sunk in the west, All creatures retired to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset, With sorrow, grief, and woe:
MY blessin’s upon thy sweet wee l… My blessin’s upon thy e’e-brie! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe… Thou’s aye the dearer, and dearer… But I’ll big a bow’r on yon bonie…
ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…
WHEN chill November’s surly blas… Made fields and forests bare, One ev’ning, as I wander’d forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man, whose aged step
STRAIT is the spot and green th… From whence my sorrows flow; And soundly sleeps the ever dear Inhabitant below. Pardon my transport, gentle shade,
O Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie, O Kenmure’s on and awa: An’ Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest… That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie…
IN wood and wild, ye warbling thr… Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of s… Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things arou…
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
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll… Warring sighs and groans I’ll wag… Who shall say that Fortune grieve…
When Januar’ wind was blawing cau… As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na whare to lodge till day: By my gude luck a maid I met,
THERE was a lass, and she was fa… At kirk or market to be seen; When a’ our fairest maids were met… The fairest maid was bonie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie’s w…
Whom will you send to London town… To Parliament and a’ that? Or wha in a’ the country round The best deserves to fa’ that? For a’ that, and a’ that;
Is there for honesty poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward slave —we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
There was three kings unto the eas… Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough’d hi…
THOU, Liberty, thou art my theme… Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddes… That a fantastic cap and rod has; Such stale conceits are poor and s…
