#ScottishWriters
WHY, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy"? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy, raptur’d slumb…
O Thou, the first, the greatest f… Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever b… Their stay and dwelling place! Before the mountains heav’d their…
GO fetch to me a pint o’ wine, An’ fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o’ Lei…
WEE Willie Gray, and his leather… Peel a willow wand to be him boots… The rose upon the breir will be hi… The rose upon the breir will be hi… Wee Willie Gray, and his leather…
O THOU dread Power, who reign’s… I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and l… I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire’the mortal strok…
FORLORN, my Love, no comfort n… Far, far from thee, I wander here… Far, far from thee, the fate sever… At which I most repine, Love. Chorus.—O wert thou, Love, but ne…
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king That we left fair Scotland’s stra… It was a’ for our rightfu’ king We e’er saw Irish land, my dear, We e’er saw Irish land.
The sun lies clasped in amber clou… Half hidden in the sea, And o’er the sands the flowing tid… Comes racing merrilee. The hawthorn hedge is white with b…
WHERE Cart rins rowin’ to the s… By mony a flower and spreading tre… There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. O, I had wooers aught or nine,
WHEN, by a generous Public’s kin… That dearest meed is granted’hon… Waen here your favour is the actor… Nor even the man in private life f… What breast so dead to heavenly V…
Chorus.'Carle, an the King come… Carle, an the King come, Thou shalt dance and I will sing, Carle, an the King come. AN SOMEBODY were come again,
Chorus’We’ll hide the Cooper be… Behint the door, behint the door, We’ll hide the Cooper behint the… And cover him under a mawn, O. THE COOPER o’ Cuddy came here…
A fond kiss, and then we sever; A farewell, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pl… Warring sighs and groans I’ll wag… Who shall say that Fortune grieve…
O Thou! whatever title suit thee— Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie, Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish nam… Sae famed in martial story! Now Sark rins over Solway sands,