#Scots #XIXCentury
We travelled in the print of olden… Yet all the land was green, And love we found, and peace, Where fire and war had been. They pass and smile, the children…
A mile an’ a bittock, a mile or tw… Abune the burn, ayont the law, Davie an’ Donal’ an’ Cherlie an’… An’ the mune was shinin’ clearly! Ane went hame wi’ the ither, an’ t…
WHETHER upon the garden seat You lounge with your uplifted feet Under the May’s whole Heaven of b… Or whether on the sofa you, No grown up person being by,
When I am grown to man’s estate I shall be very proud and great, And tell the other girls and boys Not to meddle with my toys.
Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy ready to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom
When aince Aprile has fairly come… An’ birds may bigg in winter’s lum… An’ pleisure’s spreid for a’ and s… O’ whatna state, Love, wi’ her auld recruitin’ drum…
It is not yours, O mother, to com… Not, mother, yours to weep, Though nevermore your son again Shall to your bosom creep, Though nevermore again you watch y…
O CHIEF director of the growing… Of Rome the glory and of Rome the… Me, O Quintilian, may you not for… Before from labour I make haste t… Some burn to gather wealth, lay ha…
It’s an owercome sooth for age an’… And it brooks wi’ nae denial, That the dearest friends are the a… And the young are just on trial. There’s a rival bauld wi’ young an…
Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a—floating,
Give to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway nigh me. Bed in the bush with stars to see,
MEN are Heaven’s piers; they eve… Unwearying bear the skyey floor; Man’s theatre they bear with ease, Unfrowning cariatides! I, for my wife, the sun uphold,
AWAY with funeral music– set The pipe to powerful lips— The cup of life’s for him that dri… And not for him that sips.
ABOUT the sheltered garden groun… The trees stand strangely still. The vale ne’er seemed so deep befo… Nor yet so high the hill. An awful sense of quietness,
NOW when the number of my years Is all fulfilled, and I From sedentary life Shall rouse me up to die, Bury me low and let me lie