#ScottishWriters
Fair Empress of the poet’s soul, And Queen of poetesses; Clarinda, take this little boon, This humble pair of glasses: And fill them up with generous jui…
HOW can my poor heart be glad, When absent from my sailor lad; How can I the thought forego’ He’s on the seas to meet the foe? Let me wander, let me rove,
Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear… Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear… Ye Jacobites by name, Your fautes I will proclaim, Your doctrines I maun blame —you…
BEHOLD, my love, how green the… The primrose banks how fair; The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flowing hair. The lav’rock shuns the palace gay,
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,
OH, open the door, some pity to s… Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll e… Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauld is the blast upon my pale ch…
When chapman billies leave the str… And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market—days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq. Let not Ambition mock their usefu… Their homely joys and destiny obsc… Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainf… The short and simple annals of the…
Should auld acquaintance be forgot… And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot… And auld lang syne! Chorus —For auld land syne, my de…
MY Harry was a gallant gay, Fu’ stately strade he on the plain… But now he’s banish’d far away, I’ll never see him back again. Chorus.'O for him back again!
BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, They rove amang the blooming heath… But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick sha… Can match the lads o’ Galla Water… But there is ane, a secret ane,
WHA will buy my troggin, fine ele… Broken trade o’ Broughton, a’ in… Chorus.'Buy braw troggin frae t… Wha wants troggin let him come to… There’s a noble Earl’s fame and h…
O SAD and heavy, should I part, But for her sake, sae far awa; Unknowing what my way may thwart, My native land sae far awa. Thou that of a’ things Maker art,
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…
Guid—Mornin’ to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev’ry new birth—day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee
