#ScottishWriters
O Thou Great Being! what Thou ar… Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee sta…
I hae seen the hairst o’ Rettie,… And twa—three aff the throne. I’ve heard o sax and seven weeks The hairsters girn and groan. But wi’ a covie Willie Rae
BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie’s b… O Death, it’s my opinion, Thou ne’er took such a bleth’rin b… Into thy dark dominion!
Now simmer blinks on flow’ry braes… And o’er the crystal streamlet pla… Come, let us spend the lightsome d… In the birks of Aberfeldie! Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay… As ever trod on airn; But now she’s floating down the N… And past the mouth o’ Cairn. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare…
WHY, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy"? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy, raptur’d slumb…
HERE’S to thy health, my bonie l… 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 dinna think, my pretty pink,
Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d wi… A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road,
The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
WE cam na here to view your warks… In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell, It may be nae surprise: But when we tirl’d at your door
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
HEALTH to the Maxwell’s vetera… Health, aye unsour’d by care or gr… Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl l… This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,
Chorus:—Bonie wee thing, cannie w… Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel it should tine. Wishfully I look and languish
Sleep’st thou, or wak’st thou, fai… Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi’ the tears o’ joy. Now, to the streaming fountain,
In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are p… And proper young lasses and a’, ma… But ken ye the Ronalds that live… They carry the gree frae them a’,… Their father’s laird, and weel he…