#ScottishWriters
SWEET are the banks’the banks… The spreading flowers are fair, And everything is blythe and glad, But I am fu’ o’ care. Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie…
THAT there is a falsehood in his… I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave… And sure they do not lie.
ONCE fondly lov’d, and still rem… Sweet early object of my youthful… Accept this mark of friendship, wa… Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now… And when you read the simple artle…
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…
OUT over the Forth, I look to th… But what is the north and its Hig… The south nor the east gie ease to… The far foreign land, or the wide… But I look to the west when I gae…
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macn… O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macn… She’s down in the yard, she’s kiss… She winna come hame to her ain Jo… O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M…
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean’s roar: But boundless oceans, roaring wide…
To Mary In Heaven Thou lingering star, with less’nin… That lov’st to greet the early mor… Again thou usherast in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.
“WHA is that at my bower-door?” “O wha is it but Findlay!” “Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be… “Indeed maun I,” quo’ Findlay; “What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?”
‘TWAS on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town, The young Chevalier. Chorus.’An’ Charlie, he’s my da…
I AM a keeper of the law In some sma’ points, altho’ not a’… Some people tell me gin I fa’, Ae way or ither, The breaking of ae point, tho’ sma…
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…
Among the heathy hills and ragged… 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…
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous bea… O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickerin brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase th…
WILL ye go to the Indies, my Ma… And leave auld Scotia’s shore? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary… Across th’ Atlantic roar? O sweet grows the lime and the ora…