#Scots #XVIIICentury
Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measur’d time is run! The wretch beneath the dreary pole… So marks his latest sun. To what dark cave of frozen night
A Song of Similes Tune —‘If he be a Butcher neat an… On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and me… Our lasses a’ she far excels,
Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn… And blythe awakens the morrow, But a’ the pride o’ spring’s retur… Can yield me nocht but sorrow. I see the flowers and spreading tr…
I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young to marry yet; I’m o’er young, 'twad be a sin To tak me frae my mammy yet. I am my mammny’s ae bairn,
Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in… Lang lang Joy’s been a stranger t… Forsaken and friendless, my burden… And the sweet voice o’ Pity ne’er… Love thou hast pleasures, and deep…
O Thou, that in the heavens does… Wha, as it pleases best Thysel’, Sends ane to heaven an’ ten to hel… A’ for Thy glory, And no for onie guid or ill
O May thy morn was ne’er sae swee… As the mirk night o’ December; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she, I dare na name,
There’s nane that’s blest of human… But the cheerful and the gay, man. Here’s a bottle and an honest frie… What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end,
OLD Winter, with his frosty bear… Thus once to Jove his prayer pref… “What have I done of all the year… To bear this hated doom severe? My cheerless suns no pleasure know…
On a bank of flowers, in a summer… For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro’ the…
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…
THOU, who thy honour as thy God… Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nou… To thee this votive offering I im… The tearful tribute of a broken he… The Friend thou valued’st, I, the…
O Thou dread Power, who reign’st… I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and l… I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire —the mortal stroke…
Behind yon hills where Lugar flow… ‘Mang moors an’ mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos’d, And I’ll awa to Nanie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud an’ sh…
