#ScottishWriters
NO 1 sculptured marble here, nor… “No storied urn nor animated bust;… This simple stone directs pale Sc… To pour her sorrows o’er the Poet… ADDITIONAL STANZASShe mou…
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wild woods grow and rivers r…
NO more of your guests, be they t… And cookery the first in the natio… Who is proof to thy personal conve… Is proof to all other temptation.
O thou! whatever title suit thee,- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie… Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish nam… Sae famed in martial story! Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
CA’ the yowes to the knowes, Ca’ them where the heather grows, Ca’ them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Ye gallants bright, I red ye righ… Beware o’ bonnie Ann; Her comely face sae fu’ o’ grace, Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright, like stars by…
O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibb… O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibb… Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be d… Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbi… I care na thy daddie, his lands an…
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,
HOW cruel are the parents Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby Poor Woman sacrifice! Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter
HERE lies, now a prey to insulti… What once was a butterfly, gay in… Want only of wisdom denied her res… Want only of goodness denied her e…
A Guide New—year I wish thee, Ma… Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld ba… Tho’ thou’s howe—backit now, an’ k… I’ve seen the day There could hae gaen like ony stag…
WHAT needs this din about the to… How this new play an’ that new san… Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle… Does nonsense mend, like brandy, w… Is there nae poet, burning keen fo…
O sad and heavy should I part, But for her sake, sae far awa; Unknowing what my way may thwart, My native land sae far awa. Thou that of a’ things Maker art,
GO fetch to me a pint o’ wine, An’ fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o’ Lei…
