O I forbid you, maidens a’, That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there. There’s nane that gaes by Carterh…
IN a valley of this restles mind I sought in mountain and in mead, Trusting a true love for to find. Upon an hill then took I heed; A voice I heard (and near I yede)
HERE lies a poor woman who was a… She lived in a house where help wa… Her last words on earth were: 'De… To where there’s no cooking, or wa… For everything there is exact to m…
As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t’other say, “Where sall we gang and dine to-da… “—In behint yon auld fail dyke,
A lthough things are not perfect B ecause of trial or pain C ontinue in thanksgiving D o not begin to blame E ven when the times are hard
To the Red River Valley we are g… For to get us some trains and some… But if I had my say so about it, I’d still be at home in the sack. Come and sit by my side at the bri…
OVER the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Under floods that are deepest,
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,
Rain on the green grass, And rain on the tree, And rain on the house top, But not on me!
I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced s… In those fair eyes where all perfe… Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as win…
“The wind doth blow today, my love… And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love, In cold grave she was lain. ”I’ll do as much for my true-love
ICHOT a burde in boure bryht, That fully semly is on syht, Menskful maiden of myht; Feir ant fre to fonde; In al this wurhliche won
“Oh where ha’e ye been, Lord Rand… And where ha’e ye been, my handsom… “I ha’e been to the wild wood: mot… For I’m wearied wi’ hunting, and… “An wha met ye there, Lord Randal…
WEEP you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven’s sun doth gently waste! But my Sun’s heavenly eyes