LATE crippl’d of an arm, and now… About to beg a pass for leave to b… Dull, listless, teas’d, dejected,… (Nature is adverse to a cripple’s… Will generous Graham list to his…

'Husband, husband, cease your stri… Nor longer idly rave, Sir; Tho’ I am your wedded wife Yet I am not your slave, Sir.' ‘One of two must still obey,

AS Tam the chapman on a day, Wi’Death forgather’d by the way, Weel pleas’d, he greets a wight so… And Death was nae less pleas’d wi… Wha cheerfully lays down his pack,

The winter it is past, and the sum… And the small birds, they sing on… Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I… Since my true love is parted from… The rose upon the breer, by the wa…

There was a bonie lass, And a bonie, bonie lass, And she lo’ed her bonie laddie dea… Till War’s loud alarms Tore her laddie frae her arms,

HE who of Rankine sang, lies stif… And a green grassy hillock hides h… Alas! alas! a devilish change inde…

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. O Mary, dear departed shade

Wee, modest, crimson—tippèd flow’r… Thou’s met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow’r…

NOW Nature hangs her mantle gree… On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daisies… Out o’er the grassy lea; Now Phoebus cheers the crystal st…

Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in… Lang lang Joy’s been a stranger t… Forsaken and friendless, my burden… And the sweet voice o’ Pity ne’er… Love thou hast pleasures, and deep…

Sweet are the banks– the banks o’… The spreading flowers are fair, And everything is blythe and glad, But I am fu’ o’ care. Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…

IN wood and wild, ye warbling thr… Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of s… Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things arou…

TO you, sir, this summons I’ve se… Pray, whip till the pownie is frea… But if you demand what I want, I honestly answer you—naething. Ne’er scorn a poor Poet like me,

Yestreen I had a pint o’ wine, A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o’ min… The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness

Scots, what hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;