TO Riddell, much lamented man, This ivied cot was dear; Wandr’er, dost value matchless wor… This ivied cot revere.

HERE lies Boghead amang the dead In hopes to get salvation; But if such as he in Heav’n may b… Then welcome, hail! damnation.

SHREWD Willie Smellie to Croch… The old cock’d hat, the grey surto… His bristling beard just rising in… 'Twas four long nights and days to… His uncomb’d grizzly locks, wild s…

Altho’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie, Yet happy, happy would I be Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Pegg… When o’er the hill beat surly stor…

’Twas in the seventeen hunder year O’ grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae’est man Of ony man alive. In March the three-an’-twentieth…

Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fai… How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbl…

YE hypocrites! are these your pra… To murder men and give God thanks… Desist, for shame!—proceed no furt… God won’t accept your thanks for…

The winter it is past, and the sum… And the small birds, they sing on… Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I… Since my true love is parted from… The rose upon the breer, by the wa…

Behind yon hills where Lugar flow… ‘Mang moors an’ mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos’d, And I’ll awa to Nanie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud an’ sh…

Tune - “Galla Water.” Altho’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie; Yet happy, happy would I be, Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Pegg…

My curse upon your venom’d stang, That shoots my tortur’d gums alang… And thro’ my lugs gies mony a twan… Wi’ gnawing vengeance; Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang,

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…

Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d wi… A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road,

SOME books are lies frae end to… And some great lies were never pen… Ev’n ministers they hae been kenn’… In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend,

The man, in life wherever plac’d, Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked’s way, Nor learns their guilty lore! Nor from the seat of scornful prid…