#ScottishWriters
Farewell to the Highlands, farewe… The birth—place of Valour, the co… Wherever I wander, wherever I rov… The hills of the Highlands for ev… My heart’s in the Highlands, my h…
ITHERS seek they ken na what, Features, carriage, and a’ that; Gie me love in her I court, Love to love maks a’ the sport. Let love sparkle in her e’e;
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
STILL anxious to secure your par… And not less anxious, sure, this n… A Prologue, Epilogue, or some suc… 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if… So sought a poet, roosted near the…
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,
BLEST be M’Murdo to his latest… No envious cloud o’ercast his even… No wrinkle, furrow’d by the hand o… Nor ever sorrow add one silver hai… O may no son the father’s honour s…
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi’ saut tears tricklin down your… Our bardie’s fate is at a close, Past a’ remead! The last, sad cape-stane o’ his wo…
O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibb… O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibb… Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be d… Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbi… I care na thy daddie, his lands an…
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…
WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the… An’ pownies reek in pleugh or brai… This hour on e’enin’s edge I take… To own I’m debtor To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
O THOU whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turnèd out of doo… Heard’st thou yon groan?'proceed… 'Twas laurel’d Martial calling mu…
Chorus.-O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There’s ne’er a flower that blooms… That’s half so fair as thou art! The flower it blaws, it fades, it…
IT was a’ for our rightfu’ King We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was a’ for our rightfu’ King We e’er saw Irish land, my dear, We e’er saw Irish land.
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
'TWAS in the seventeen hunder ye… O’ grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae’est man Of ony man alive. In March the three-an’-twentieth…