#ScottishWriters
BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, They rove amang the blooming heath… But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick sha… Can match the lads o’ Galla Water… But there is ane, a secret ane,
O WERE my Love yon lilac fair, Wi’ purple blossoms to the spri… And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn
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…
WE cam na here to view your warks… In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell, It may be nae surprise: But when we tirl’d at your door
O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
YE sons of old Killie, assembled… To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce… To sit in that honoured station. I’ve little to say, but only to pr…
NOW Nature hangs her mantle gree… On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daisies… Out o’er the grassy lea; Now Phoebus cheers the crystal st…
ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…
Thou lingering star, with less’nin… That lov’st to greet the early mor… Again thou usherast in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary, dear departed shade
WHILE larks, with little wing, Fann’d the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun’s golden eye
Is there a whim—inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot fo… Owre blate to seek, owre proud to… Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing doo…
The gloomy night is gath’ring fast… Loud roars the wild inconstant bla… Yon murky cloud is filled with rai… I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor,
To Mary In Heaven Thou lingering star, with less’nin… That lov’st to greet the early mor… Again thou usherast in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.
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…
The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
