#ScottishWriters
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.
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
FAREWELL, dear friend! may gui… And 'mang her favourites admit you… If e’er Detraction shore to smit… May nane believe him, And ony deil that thinks to get yo…
FORLORN, my Love, no comfort n… Far, far from thee, I wander here… Far, far from thee, the fate sever… At which I most repine, Love. Chorus.—O wert thou, Love, but ne…
Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa… If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy ma… Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My bonie lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’…
If ye gae up to yon hill—tap, Ye’ll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth’s a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie brigh…
I dream’d I lay where flowers wer… Gaily in the sunny beam; List’ning to the wild birds singin… By a falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and da…
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferl… Your impudence protects you sairly… I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace; Tho’, faith! I fear ye dine but s…
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.
A Song of Similes Tune —‘If he be a Butcher neat an… On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells… Could I describe her shape and me… Our lasses a’ she far excels,
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,
Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot fo… Owre blate to seek, owre proud to… Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing doo…
Stay, my Charmer, can you leave m… Cruel, cruel to deceive me! Well you know how much you grieve… Cruel Charmer, can you go! Cruel Charmer, can you go!
The sun lies clasped in amber clou… Half hidden in the sea, And o’er the sands the flowing tid… Comes racing merrilee. The hawthorn hedge is white with b…
Scots, wha 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: