#ScottishWriters
WHERE, braving angry winter’s st… The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy’s cha… First blest my wondering eyes; As one who by some savage stream
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…
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
IN this strange land, this uncout… A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne’er cross’t the Mus… Nor limpit in poetic shackles: A land that Prose did never view…
O YE whose cheek the tear of pity… Draw near with pious rev’rence, an… Here lie the loving husband’s dear… The tender father, and the gen’rou… The pitying heart that felt for hu…
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…
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon… How can ye bloom sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonni…
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca’d it Linkumdoddi… Willie was a wabster guid Could stown a clue wi onie body. He had a wife was dour and din,
O KENMURE’S on and awa, Willi… O Kenmure’s on and awa: An’ Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest… That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie…
EARTH’D up, here lies an imp o’… Planted by Satan’s dibble; Poor silly wretch, he’s damned him… To save the Lord the trouble.
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…
WHERE hae ye been sae braw, lad? Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O? Chorus.'An ye had been whare I…
WHILE at the stook the shearers… To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r… Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour
The gloomy night is gath’ring fast… Loud roars the wild inconstant bla… Yon murky cloud is filled with rai… I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor,
AS cauld a wind as ever blew, A cauld kirk, an in’t but few: As cauld a minister’s e’er spak; Ye’se a’ be het e’er I come back.