‘Why sit’st thou by that ruin’d ha… Thou aged carle so stern and grey? Dost thou its former pride recall, Or ponder how it pass’d away?'- ‘Know’st thou not me?' the Deep V…

Call it not vain;-they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper… And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff and cavern lon…

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…

“Have, then, thy wish!”—he whistle… And he was answer’d from the hill; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath,

O young Lochinvar is come out of… Through all the wide Border his s… And save his good broadsword he we… He rode all unarm’d, and he rode a… So faithful in love, and so dauntl…

hush thee, my babie, thy sire was… Thy mother a lady, both lovely and… The woods and the glens, from the… They all are belonging, dear babie… O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,

Farewell, merry maidens, to song,… For the brave lads of Westra are… And we must have labour, and hunge… Ere we dance with the maids of Du… For now, in our trim boats of Nor…

The violet in her greenwood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazel mi… May boast itself the fairest flowe… In glen, or copse, or forest dingl… Though fair her gems of azure hue,

The toils are pitched, and the sta… Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives… Hunters live so cheerily. It was a stag, a stag of ten,

Far in the chambers of the west, The gale had sigh’d itself to rest… The moon was cloudless now and cle… But pale, and soon to disappear. The thin grey clouds wax dimly lig…

November’s hail-cloud drifts away, November’s sunbeam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey, When forth comes Lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set,

’Twas when among our linden-trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And grey-hair’d peasants say that… Betoken foreign arms), Then look’d we down to Willisow,

Chorus Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Tell the news in brugh and glen,

CORONACH He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest.

When dark December glooms the day… And takes our autumn joys away; When short and scant the sunbeam t… Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard,