#Scots
O how shall I, unskilfu’, try The Poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours… That whisper, inspiration, Even they maun dare an effort mair
Instead of a song, boys, I’ll giv… Here’s the memory of those on the… That we lost, did I say, nay, by… For their fame it shall last while… The next in succession, I’ll give…
O LORD, when hunger pinches sore… Do thou stand us in stead, And send us, from thy bounteous st… A tup or wether head! Amen.———— O Lord, since we have feasted thu…
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the West; For there the bony Lassie lives, The Lassie I lo’e best: There’s wild-woods grow, and river…
AMONG the heathy hills and ragge… The roaring Fyers pours his mossy… Till full he dashes on the rocky m… Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, h… As high in air the bursting torren…
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory, Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish nam… Sae fam’d in martial story. Now Sark rins o’er the Solway san…
What will I do gin my Hoggie die, My joy, my pride, my Hoggie: My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie. The lee-lang night we watch’d the…
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
HERE Brewer Gabriel’s fire’s ex… And empty all his barrels: He’s blest—if, as he brew’d, he dr… In upright, honest morals.
AFAR 1 the illustrious Exile roa… Whom kingdoms on this day should h… An inmate in the casual shed, On transient pity’s bounty fed, Haunted by busy memory’s bitter ta…
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…
THOUGH fickle Fortune has decei… She pormis’d fair and perform’d bu… Of mistress, friends, and wealth b… Yet I bear a heart shall support… I’ll act with prudence as far 's…
IN this strange land, this uncout… A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne’er cross’t the Mus… Nor limpit in poetic shackles: A land that Prose did never view…
AE day, as Death, that gruesome c… Was driving to the tither warl’ A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad— Black gowns of each denomination,
THERE was once a day, but old T… That brave Caledonia, the chief o… From some of your northern deities… (Who knows not that brave Caledon… From Tweed to the Orcades was her…