Farewell! Farewell! the voice you… Has left its last soft tone with y… Its next must join the seaward che… And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could…

The rose is fairest when ‘t is bud… And hope is brightest when it dawn… The rose is sweetest washed with m… And love is loveliest when embalme… O wilding rose, whom fancy thus en…

BREATHES there the man with so… Who never to himself hath said, ‘This is my own, my native land!’ Whose heart hath ne’er within him… As home his footsteps he hath turn…

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,

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

’Twas when among our linden-trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And grey-hair’d peasants say that… Betoken foreign arms), Then look’d we down to Willisow,

And said I that my limbs were old… And said I that my blood was cold… And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither’d heart was dea… And that I might not sing of love…

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…

Yes, thou mayst sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and gr… Thy life its final course has foun… And thou must die.

Autumn departs - but still his man… Rests on the groves of noble Some… Beneath a shroud of russet dropp’d… Tweed and his tributaries mingle s… Hoarser the wind, and deeper sound…

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

Birds of omen dark and foul, Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, Leave the sick man to his dream - All night long he heard you scream… Haste to cave and ruin’d tower,

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…

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the… To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

The violet in her greenwood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazel mi… May boast itself the fairest flowe… In glen, or copse, or forest dingl… Though fair her gems of azure hue,