HERE Souter Hood in death does… To hell if he’s gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; He’ll haud it weel thegither.

THERE was a lass, and she was fa… At kirk or market to be seen; When a’ our fairest maids were met… The fairest maid was bonie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie’s w…

Chorus’€”Here’s a health to ane I… Here’s a health to ane I loe dear… Thou art sweet as the smile when f… And soft as their parting tear’€”… ALTHO’ thou maun never be mine,

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…

STAY my charmer, can you leave m… Cruel, cruel to deceive me; Well you know how much you grieve… Cruel charmer, can you go! Cruel charmer, can you go!

Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wild woods grow and rivers r…

O I’ve walked o’er yon countries… Among Airlin’s braw lasses I’ve h… Comin’ hame in the mornins, fin I… Fin I wis a plooboy on Airlin’s f… O the first thing I did, fin I ga…

LONG life, my Lord, an’ health b… Unskaithed by hunger’d Highland b… Lord grant me nae duddie, desperat… Wi’ dirk, claymore, and rusty trig… May twin auld Scotland o’ a life

YOU’RE welcome to Despots, Dumo… You’re welcome to Despots, Dumour… How does Dampiere do? Ay, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with y…

LONE on the bleaky hills the str… Shun the fierce storms among the s… Down from the rivulets, red with d… The gathering floods burst o’er th… Beneath the blast the leafless for…

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashi… Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar’d with real passio… Poor is all that princely pride. Mark yonder, &c. (four lines r…

O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and b… The meikle devil wi’ a woodie Haurl thee hame to his black smidd… O’er hurcheon hides, And like stock-fish come o’er his…

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,

O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours… That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair