#ScottishWriters
THOU of an independent mind, With soul resolv’d, with soul resi… Prepar’d Power’s proudest frown t… Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; Virtue alone who dost revere,
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…
O WERE my love yon Lilac fair, Wi’ purple blossoms to the Spring… And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing! How I wad mourn when it was torn
INSTEAD of a Song, boy’s, I’ll… Here’s to the memory of those on t… That we lost, did I say?'nay, b… For their fame it will last while… The next in succession I’ll give…
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,
FY, let us a’ to Kirkcudbright, For there will be bickerin’ there; For Murray’s light horse are to m… And O how the heroes will swear! And there will be Murray, Command…
Is there, for honest poverty, That hings his head, an’ a’ that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation; And secret hung, with poison’d cru… The dirk of Defamation: A mask that like the gorget show’d…
O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well,
O Thou! whatever title suit thee— Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie, Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…
WHAT dost thou in that mansion f… Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, The picture of thy mind. ———No Stewart art thou, Galloway,
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;
Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fai… How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbl…
Chorus’O aye my wife she dang m… An’ aft my wife she bang’d me, If ye gie a woman a’ her will, Gude faith! she’ll soon o’er-gang… ON peace an’ rest my mind was ben…
THIS 1 wot ye all whom it concer… I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, A ne’er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprackl’d up the brae,