#Scots
Go fetch to me a pint o wine, And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonie lassie: The boat rocks at the Pier o’ Lei…
Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy looks wave in the breeze… All freshly steep’d in morning dew… And maun I still on Menie doat,
AMONG the heathy hills and ragge… The roaring Fyers pours his mossy… Till full he dashes on the rocky m… Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, h… As high in air the bursting torren…
I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, An’ hae to learning nae pretence; Yet what the matter? Whene’er my Muse does on me glanc…
Gane is the day, and mirk’s the ni… But we’ll ne’er stray for faut o’… Gude ale and bratdy’s stars and mo… And blue-red wine’s the risin’ sun… Chorus.—Then gudewife, count the…
O were my Love yon Lilack fair, Wi’ purple blossoms to the Spring… And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing. How I wad mourn, when it was torn
It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held awa to Annie: The time flew by, wi’ tentless hee…
On Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet… Ha! whare ye gaun’ ye crowlin ferl… Your impudence protects you sairly… I canna say but ye strunt rarely Owre gauze and lace,
THE LAMP of day, with-ill presa… Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the west… Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’… And hollow whistled in the rocky c… Lone as I wander’d by each cliff…
O May thy morn was ne’er sae swee… As the mirk night o’ December; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she, I dare na name,
WHEN dear Clarinda, 1 matchless… First struck Sylvander’s raptur’d… He gaz’d, he listened to despair, Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. Love, from Clarinda’s heavenly ey…
Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fai… How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbl…
GO fetch to me a pint o’ wine, An’ fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o’ Lei…
HAIL, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv… In chase o’ thee, what crowds hae… Frae common sense, or sunk enerv’d 'Mang heaps o’ clavers: And och! o’er aft thy joes hae sta…
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’…