#ScottishWriters
STILL anxious to secure your par… And not less anxious, sure, this n… A Prologue, Epilogue, or some suc… 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if… So sought a poet, roosted near the…
THERE 1 was a lad was born in K… But whatna day o’ whatna style, I doubt it’s hardly worth the whil… To be sae nice wi’ Robin. Chor.—Robin was a rovin’ boy,
SWEET are the banks’the banks… The spreading flowers are fair, And everything is blythe and glad, But I am fu’ o’ care. Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
WHAT will I do gin my Hoggie di… My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie! The lee-lang night we watch’d the…
THE SMILING Spring comes in r… And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling… And bonie blue are the sunny skies… Fresh o’er the mountains breaks fo…
O THOU Great Being! what Thou… Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee sta…
THE BLUDE-RED rose at Yule m… The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest s… But an auld man shall never daunto… Refrain.'To daunton me, to daun…
Chorus.-O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There’s ne’er a flower that blooms… That’s half so fair as thou art! The flower it blaws, it fades, it…
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;
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.
Chorus’Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow While my soul’s delight Is on her bed of sorrow. CAN I cease to care?
‘Wha is that at my bower—door?’ ‘O wha is it but Findlay!’ 'Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be… ‘Indeed maun I,’ quo’ Findlay; 'What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?'
The winter it is past, and the sum… And the small birds, they sing on… Now ev’ry thing is glad, while… Since my true love is parted from… The rose upon the breer, by the wa…
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.
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,