#ScottishWriters
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to… The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud shrill`s I hear the blas… I`m sure it`s winters fairly. CHORUS:Up in the morning`s no f…
I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, An’ hae to learning nae pretence; Yet what the matter? Whene’er my Muse does on me glanc…
1 Ca’ the yowes to the knowes, 2 Ca’ them where the heather g… 3 Ca’ them where the burnie ro… 4 My bonie dearie. 5 Hark! the mavis’ evening san…
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus:
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…
YE hypocrites! are these your pra… To murder men and give God thanks… Desist, for shame!'proceed no fu… God won’t accept your thanks for…
HOW wisdom and Folly meet, mix,… How Virtue and Vice blend their b… How Genius, th’ illustrious fathe… Confounds rule and law, reconciles… I sing: If these mortals, the cri…
[First Setting] Comin thro’ the rye, poor body, Comin thro’ the rye, She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie Comin thro’ the rye.
A Guide New-year I wish thee, Ma… Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld ba… Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ k… I’ve seen the day There could hae gaen like ony stag…
My mither sent me tae the moss For to gaither peats and dross. I cowpit the cairt and hanged the… An whistle ow’r the lave o’t. My mither sent me tae the well
MY girl she’s airy, she’s buxom a… Her breath is as sweet as the blos… A touch of her lips it ravishes qu… She’s always good natur’d, good hu… She dances, she glances, she smile…
YOUR News and Review, sir. I’ve read through and through, sir… With little admiring or blaming; The Papers are barren Of home-news or foreign,
John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bled, John,
O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well,
MY heart is a-breaking, dear Titt… Some counsel unto me come len’, To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fello…