He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing,

Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden’€™s breast Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and hig…

The train has left the hills of B… The barrier guard have open made (So Lindesay bade) the palisade, That closed the tented ground; Their men the warders backward dre…

Next morn the Baron climb’d the t… To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp’d on Flodden edge: The white pavilions made a show, Like remnants of the winter snow,

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, In Ettrick’s vale, is sinking swe… The westland wind is hush and stil… The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I’ll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride: And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

When dark December glooms the day… And takes our autumn joys away; When short and scant the sunbeam t… Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard,

If thou would’st view fair Melros… Go visit it by the pale moonlight; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey… When the broken arches are black i…

To an Oak Tree, In the Churchyar… Emblem of England’s ancient faith… Full proudly may thy branches wave… Where loyalty lies low in death, And valour fills a timeless grave.

Tho’ right be aft put down by stre… As mony a day we saw that, The true and leilfu’ cause at leng… Shall bear the grie for a’ that. For a’ that an a’ that,

The summer sun, whose early power Was wont to gild Matilda’s bower, And rouse her with his matin ray Her duteous orisons to pay, That morning sun has three times s…

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bow… The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who thrill’d all…

So goodbye, Mrs. Brown, I am going out of town, Over dale, over down, Where bugs bite not, Where lodgers fight not,

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-hor… To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo… His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lord pur… The eager pack, from couples freed…

November’s hail-cloud drifts away, November’s sunbeam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey, When forth comes Lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set,