#ScottishWriters
Fairest Maid on Devon banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou wert wont to do. Full well thou knowest I love the…
The gloomy night is gath’ring fast… Loud roars the wild inconstant bla… Yon murky cloud is filled with rai… I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor,
O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish’d, the trysted hour… Those smiles and glances let me se… That makes the miser’s treasure po… How blythely wad I bide the stour…
The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or, the stormy north sends driving… The blinding sleet and snaw: While tumbling brown, the burn com…
On Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet… Ha! whare ye gaun’ ye crowlin ferl… Your impudence protects you sairly… I canna say but ye strunt rarely Owre gauze and lace,
THE lovely lass o’ Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e’en and morn she cries, ‘Ala… And aye the saut tear blin’s her e… 'Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
FINTRY, my stay in wordly strif… Friend o’ my muse, friend o’ my li… Are ye as idle’s I am? Come then, wi’ uncouth kintra fleg… O’er Pegasus I’ll fling my leg,
My harry was a gallant gay, Fu’ stately strade he on the plain… But now he’s banish’d far away: I’ll never see him back again. Refrain:
NOW Nature hangs her mantle gree… On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daisies… Out o’er the grassy lea; Now Phoebus cheers the crystal st…
The simple Bard, unbroke by rules… He pours the wild effusions of the… And if inspir’d 'tis Nature’s pow… Her’s all the melting thrill, and…
[First Setting] Comin thro’ the rye, poor body, Comin thro’ the rye, She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie Comin thro’ the rye.
NO churchman am I for to rail and… No statesman nor soldier to plot o… No sly man of business contriving… For a big-belly’d bottle’s the who… The peer I don’t envy, I give him…
Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds,
DOES haughty Gaul invasion threa… Then let the louns beware, Sir; There’s wooden walls upon our seas… And volunteers on shore, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
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.
