I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom, So I drank soda instead. I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The king sits in Dumferling toune… Drinking the blude-reid wine: “O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?” Up and spak an eldern knicht,
O WALY, waly, up the bank, And waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side, Where I and my Love wont to ga… I lean’d my back unto an aik,
THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, —Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule. When thou from hence away art past…
The following Epilogue to 'The Padlock’ was written by a very worthy Clergyman, soon after the first representation of that opera. The author of this little poem died in the Summer of 1...
We redeth oft and findeth ywrite - And this clerkes wele it wite - Layes that ben in harping Ben yfounde of ferli thing. Sum bethe of wer and sum of wo,
Westron wind, when wilt thou blow That small rain down can rain? Christ, that my love were in my ar… And I in my bed again!
“If all the world were paper And all the sea were ink, If all the trees were bread and ch… What would we do for drink? If all the world were sand O,
THIS winter’s weather it waxeth… And frost it freezeth on every… And Boreas blows his blast so bol… That all our cattle are like to… Bell, my wife, she loves no strife…
Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my C… Titan shineth clear. Corydon. Who is it that calleth C… Who is it that I hear? Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, ca…
I WISH I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirconnell lea! Curst be the heart that thought th…
(From The Point of View, U.S.,… “THE LOVE I bear you, dearest, Would make the sweetest tale, We’d sail upon a sea of bliss, And I would lift the sail.
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sl… It grieves me sore to see thee wee… Wouldst thou be quiet I’se be gla… Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: Balow my boy, thy mother’s joy,
O MY deir hert, young Jesus swei… Prepare thy creddil in my spreit, And I sall rock thee in my hert And never mair from thee depart. But I sall praise thee evermoir
I SING of a maiden That is makeles; King of all kings To her son she ches. He came al so still