Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fai… How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbl…

My Son, these maxims make a rule, An’ lump them aye thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that ere was dig…

Fy, let us a’ to Kirkcudbright, For there will be bickerin’ there; For Murray’s light horse are to m… And O, how the heroes will swear! An’ there will be Murray commande…

The man, in life wherever plac’d, Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked’s way, Nor learns their guilty lore! Nor from the seat of scornful prid…

Ye flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care? Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…

Behind yon hills, where Lugar flo… 'Mang moors an’ mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos’d, And I’ll awa to Nannie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud and sh…

Musing on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me; Wearying heav’n in warm devotion, For his weal where’er he be. Hope and Fear’s alternate billow

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…

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity… Draw near with pious rev’rence, an… Here lie the loving husband’s dear… The tender father, and the gen’rou… The pitying heart that felt for hu…

FROM those drear solitudes and f… Where Infamy with sad Repentance… Where turnkeys make the jealous po… And deal from iron hands the spare… Where truant 'prentices, yet young…

I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ fr… A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind momento: But how the subject—theme may gang…

HOW cold is that bosom which foll… How pale is that cheek where the r… How silent that tongue which the e… How dull is that ear which to flat… If sorrow and anguish their exit a…

Auld Coila now may fidge fu’ fain… She’s gotten poets o’ her ain— Chiels wha their chanters winna ha… But tune their lays, Till echoes a’ resound again

HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the dei… Or great Mackinlay 1 thrawn his h… Or Robertson 2 again grown weel, To preach an’ read? “Na’ waur than a’! cries ilka chie…

The sun he is sunk in the west; All creatures retired to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset, With sorrow, grief, and woe: And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!