The Solemn League And Covenant
The Solemn League and Covenant Now brings a smile, now brings a tear; Butsacred Freedom, too, was theirs: If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer.
The Wren’s Nest
The Robin to the Wren's nest Cam keekin' in, camkeekin' in; O weel's me on your auld pow, Wad ye be in, wadye be in? Thou's ne'er getleave to lie without, And I within, and I within, Saelang's I haeanauldclout To rowe ye in, to rowe ye in.
Their Groves O’Sweet Myrtle
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o'green breckan, Wi' the burnstealing under the lang, yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yonhumble broom bowers Where the blue-bell and gowanlurk, lowly, unseen; For there, lightlytripping, among the wild flowers, A-list'ning
There Was A Bonie Lass
There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass, And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear; TillWar's loud alarms tore her laddiefraeher arms, Wi'mony a sigh and tear. Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, He still was a stranger to fear; And nochtcould him quail, orhis bosom assail, Butthe bonielass he
Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E’e
'Twas naher bonieblue e'ewas my ruin, Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin'; 'Twas the dear smile when naebodydid mindus, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness: 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stownglance o' kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sairdo I fear that despair maunabide me, Buttho'
Verses To Collector Mitchell
Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, Wha, wanting thee, might beg orsteal; Alake, alake, the meikledeil Wi' a'his witches Are at it skelpin jig and reel, In my poor pouches? I modestly fu'fainwadhint it, That One-pound-one, I sairlywant it; If wi' the hizziedown ye sent it, It would be kind; And while my heart
Her Answer
O tell na me o'wind an'rain, Upbraid name wi'caulddisdain, Gaeback the gateye camagain, I winna let ye in, jo. Chorus-I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; And ancefor a'this aenight, I winnalet ye in, jo. The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours Is nochtto what
How Cruel Are The Parents
How cruel are the parents Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby Poor Woman sacrifice! Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter Has buta choice of strife; To shun a tyrant Father's hate- Become a wretched Wife. The ravening hawk pursuing, The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin, Awhile her pinions tries; Till, of