#ScottishWriters
HE who of Rankine sang, lies stif… And a green grassy hillock hides h… Alas! alas! a devilish change inde…
I CALL no Goddess to inspire my… A fabled Muse may suit a bard tha… Friend of my life! my ardent spiri… And all the tribute of my heart re… For boons accorded, goodness ever…
O THOU, in whom we live and move… Who made the sea and shore; Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore; And, if it please Thee, Power abo…
O I’ve walked o’er yon countries… Among Airlin’s braw lasses I’ve h… Comin’ hame in the mornins, fin I… Fin I wis a plooboy on Airlin’s f… O the first thing I did, fin I ga…
THOU of an independent mind, With soul resolv’d, with soul resi… Prepar’d Power’s proudest frown t… Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; Virtue alone who dost revere,
My love, she’s but a lassie yet, My love, she’s but a lassie yet! We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet! I rue the day I sought her, O!
My heart’s in the Highlands, my h… My heart’s in the Highlands, a-ch… Chasing the wild-deer, and followi… My heart’s in the Highlands, wher… Farewell to the Highlands, farewe…
WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the… An’ pownies reek in pleugh or brai… This hour on e’enin’s edge I take… To own I’m debtor To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands… He aften did assist ye; For had ye staid hale weeks awa, Your wives they ne’er had miss’d y… Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pre…
LORD, we thank, and thee adore, For temporal gifts we little merit… At present we will ask no more— Let William Hislop give the spiri…
Scots, wha 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:
LONG life, my Lord, an’ health b… Unskaithed by hunger’d Highland b… Lord grant me nae duddie, desperat… Wi’ dirk, claymore, and rusty trig… May twin auld Scotland o’ a life
OF a’ the airts the wind can blaw… I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best: There wild woods grow, and rivers…
O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
As I was a—wand’ring ae morning i… I heard a young ploughman sae swee… And as he was singin’, thir words… There’s nae life like the ploughma… The lav’rock in the morning she’ll…
