YE flowery banks o’ bonnie 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 bonni…

Tune - “Laggan Burn.” Here’s to thy health, my bonie las… Gude nicht and joy be wi’ thee; I’ll come nae mair to thy bower-do… To tell thee that I lo’e thee.

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran… The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drin… There’s mony godly folks are think… Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sink…

The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or, the stormy north sends driving… The blinding sleet and snaw: While tumbling brown, the burn com…

Coming thro’ the rye, poor body, Coming thro’ the rye, She draiglet a’ her petticoatie Coming thro’ the rye. O, Jenny’s a’ wat, poor body;

GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, tha… To see the miscreants feel the pai… Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures f… Till Slave and Despot be but thin…

Humid seal of soft affections, Tend’rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love’s first snow—drop, virgin kis… Speaking silence, dumb confession,

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

When Januar’ wind was blawing cau… As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na whare to lodge till day: By my gude luck a maid I met,

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…

AS I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa’flower scents the dew… Where the howlet mourns in her ivy… And tells the midnight moon her ca… The winds were laid, the air was s…

By Allan stream I chanc’d to rove… While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi… The winds are whispering thro’ the… The yellow corn was waving ready: I listen’d to a lover’s sang,

To Mary In Heaven Thou lingering star, with less’nin… That lov’st to greet the early mor… Again thou usherast in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.

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! An’ there will be Murray commande…

KEMBLE, thou cur’st my unbelief For Moses and his rod; At Yarico’s sweet nor of grief The rock with tears had flow’d.