#ScottishWriters
There is mist on the mountain, and… But more dark is the sleep of the… A stranger commanded '€”- it sunk… It has frozen each heart, and benu… The dirk and the target lie sordid…
The sultry summer day is done, The western hills have hid the sun… But mountain peak and village spir… Retain reflection of his fire. Old Barnard’s towers are purple s…
The baron of Smaylho’me rose with… He spurr’d his courser on, Without stop or stay, down the roc… That leads to Brotherstone. He went not with the bold Buccleu…
In Imitation of An Old English… My wayward fate I needs must plai… Though bootless be the theme; I loved, and was beloved again, Yet all was but a dream:
Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,
On Ettrick Forest’s mountains dun ’Tis blithe to hear the sportsman’… And seek the heath-frequenting bro… Far through the noonday solitude; By many a cairn and trenched mound…
Glowing with love, on fire for fam… A Troubadour that hated sorrow Beneath his lady’s window came, And thus he sung his last good-mor… ‘My arm it is my country’s right,
Part First Ancient True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee; And there he saw a lady bright,
If thou would’st view fair Melros… Go visit it by the pale moonlight; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey… When the broken arches are black i…
Heap on more wood! the wind is chi… But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry st… Each age has deemed the new-born y… The fittest time for festal cheer;
Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay… From the body pass away;- Hark! the mass is singing. From thee doff thy mortal weed,
To an Oak Tree, In the Churchyar… Emblem of England’s ancient faith… Full proudly may thy branches wave… Where loyalty lies low in death, And valour fills a timeless grave.
Farewell! Farewell! the voice you… Has left its last soft tone with y… Its next must join the seaward che… And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could…
When Denmark’s raven soar’d on hi… Triumphant through Northumbrian s… Till, hovering near, her fatal cro… Bade Reged’s Britons dread the yo… And the broad shadow of her wing
