#ScottishWriters
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wild woods grow and rivers r…
YE sons of old Killie, assembled… To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce… To sit in that honoured station. I’ve little to say, but only to pr…
HERE lies Johnie Pigeon; What was his religion? Whae’er desires to ken, To some other warl’ Maun follow the carl,
SOME books are lies frae end to… And some great lies were never pen… Ev’n ministers they hae been kenn’… In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend,
Amang the trees, where humming bee… At buds and flowers were hinging,… Auld Caledon drew out her drone, And to her pipe was singing, O: 'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys…
DAUGHTER of Chaos’ doting year… Nurse of ten thousand hopes and fe… Whether thy airy, insubstantial sh… (The rights of sepulture now duly… Spread abroad its hideous form
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and mi… Our lasses a’ she far excels—— An she has twa sparkling, rogueish… She’s sweeter than the morning daw…
Chorus’Mally’s meek, Mally’s sw… Mally’s modest and discreet; Mally’s rare, Mally’s fair, Mally’s every way complete. AS I was walking up the street,
Wishfully I look and languish In that bonie face o’ thine, And my heart it sounds wi’ anguish… Lest my wee thing be na mine. [Chorus] Bonie wee thing, cannie…
Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care? Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
HERE lies Boghead amang the dead In hopes to get salvation; But if such as he in Heav’n may b… Then welcome, hail! damnation.
WHOM will you send to London tow… To Parliament and a’ that? Or wha in a’ the country round The best deserves to fa’ that? For a’ that, and a’ that,
SING on, sweet thrush, upon the… Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to… See aged Winter, 'mid his surly r… At thy blythe carol, clears his fu… So in lone Poverty’s dominion dre…
Is there for honesty 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,
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and str… The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus:
