#Scots #XVIIICentury
Lassie wi’ the lintwhite locks, Bonie lassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, An wilt thou be my Dearie O. Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea…
THE NIGHT was still, and o’er… The moon shone on the castle wa’; The mavis sang, while dew-drops ha… Around her on the castle wa’; Sae merrily they danced the ring
Braw, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, They rove amang the blooming heath… But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick sha… Can match the lads o’ Galla Water… But there is ane, a secret ane,
Whoe’er thou art, O reader, know, That Death has murder’d Johnie; An’ here his body lies fu’ low - For saul he ne’er had ony.
ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…
It was in sweet Senegal that my f… For the lands of Virginia—ginia O… Torn from that lovely shore, and m… And alas! I am weary, weary O! Torn from &c.
When first my brave Johnie lad ca… He had a blue bonnet that wanted t… But now he has gotten a hat and a… Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up yo… Cock up your beaver, and cock it f…
It was a’ for our rightful king That we left fair Scotland’s stra… It was a’ for our rightful king We e’er saw Irish land, My dear,
HEE balou, my sweet wee Donald, Picture o’ the great Clanronald; Brawlie kens our wanton Chief Wha gat my young Highland thief. Leeze me on thy bonie craigie,
FAIR maid, you need not take the… Nor idle texts pursue: 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant… Not Angels such as you.
O, were my love yon lilac fair Wi’ purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing. How I wad mourn when it was torn
Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa… If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy ma… Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My bonie lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’…
Will ye go the Highlands Leezie… Will ye go to the Highlands wi’ m… Will ye go to the Highlands Leezi… My pride and my darling to be.
LIGHT lay the earth on Billy’s… His chicken heart so tender; But build a castle on his head, His scull will prop it under.
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad! Whare hae ye been sae brankie O? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie O? An ye had been whare I hae been,