#ScottishWriters
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
It was a’ for our rightful king That we left fair Scotland’s stra… It was a’ for our rightful king We e’er saw Irish land, My dear,
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…
THERE was a bonie lass, and a bo… And she lo’ed her bonie laddie dea… Till War’s loud alarms tore her l… Wi’ mony a sigh and tear. Over sea, over shore, where the ca…
O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish’d, the trysted hour… Those smiles and glances let me se… That make the miser’s treasure poo… How blythely was I bide the stour…
On a bank of flowers in a summer d… For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro the w…
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows—tree. Chorus:
FRAE the friends and land I love… Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite; Frae my best belov’d I rove, Never mair to taste delight: Never mair maun hope to find
OF 1 a’ the airts the wind can bl… I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best: There’s wild-woods grow, and river…
The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bled, John,
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…
WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed… The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddi… Willie was a wabster gude, Could stown a clue wi’ ony body: He had a wife was dour and din,
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…
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…