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…

AFAR 1 the illustrious Exile roa… Whom kingdoms on this day should h… An inmate in the casual shed, On transient pity’s bounty fed, Haunted by busy memory’s bitter ta…

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…

Oh wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter the… Or did misfortune’s bitter storms

THE NIGHT was still, and o’er… The moon shone on the castle wa’; The mavis sang, while dew-drops ha… Around her on the castle wa’; Sae merrily they danced the ring

Where braving angry Winter’s stor… The lofty Ochels rise, Far in their shade my Peggy’s cha… First blest my wondering eyes. As one who by some savage stream

SOME books are lies frae end to… And some great lies were never pen… Ev’n ministers they hae been kenn’… In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend,

Ye gallants bright, I rede you ri… Beware o’ bonie Ann; Her comely face sae fu’ o’ grace, Your heart she will trepan: Her een sae bright, like stars by…

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…

Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy looks wave in the breeze… All freshly steep’d in morning dew… And maun I still on Menie doat,

‘Wha is that at my bower—door?’ ‘O wha is it but Findlay!’ 'Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be… ‘Indeed maun I,’ quo’ Findlay; 'What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?'

SHREWD Willie Smellie to Croch… The old cock’d hat, the grey surto… His bristling beard just rising in… 'Twas four long nights and days to… His uncomb’d grizzly locks, wild s…

My love, she’s but a lassie yet, My love, she’s but a lassie yet! We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet! I rue the day I sought her, O!

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

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,