Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Sw...

From Jean Pierre Claris Florian I love to see the swallows come At my window twittering, Bringing from their southern home News of the approaching spring.

Let me sleep. The day is past, And the folded shadows keep Weary mortals safe and fast. Let me sleep. I am all too tired to weep

As I was walking down the street A week ago, Near Henderson’s I chanced to mee… A man I know. His name is Alexander Bell,

from the unpublished remains of Ed… In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace… William Wallace’€”reared his head…

with apologies to Lord Tennyson O swallow-tailed purveyor of colle… O skilled to please the student fr… Most honoured publican of Scotlan… Milton, a name to adorn the Cross…

Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? ’Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king. Across the sea, with fire and swor…

The lady stood at the station bar, (Three currants in a bun) And oh she was proud, as ladies ar… (And the bun was baked a week ago.… For a weekly wage she was standing…

Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pass away. Ye shall pass and be forgot, And your place shall know you not. Other generations rise,

Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true; Not stand among the halting crew The faint of heart, the feeble-kne… Who tarry for a certain sign

Short space shall be hereafter Ere April brings the hour Of weeping and of laughter, Of sunshine and of shower, Of groaning and of gladness,

Till the tread of marching feet Through the quiet grass-grown stre… Of the little town shall come, Soldier, rest awhile at home. While the banners idly hang,

on returning to St. Andrews In the hard familiar horse-box I… Creeping back to old St. Andrews… Bearing bejants with their luggage… Which the porter, hot and tipless,…

Of our own will we are not free, When freedom lies within our power… We wait for some decisive hour, To rise and take our liberty. Still we delay, content to be

Crimson and cream and white - My room is a garden of roses! Centre and left and right, Three several splendid posies. As the sender is, they are sweet,