I’m now arrived– thanks to the god… Thro’ pathways rough and muddy, A certain sign that makin roads Is no this people’s study: Altho’ I’m not wi’ Scripture cram…

Farewell to the Highlands, farewe… The birth-place of Valour, the co… Wherever I wander, wherever I rov… The hills of the Highlands for ev… My heart’s in the Highlands, my h…

I HAE been at Crookieden, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, Viewing Willie and his men, My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. There our foes that burnt and slew…

LET other heroes boast their scar… The marks of sturt and strife: And other poets sing of wars, The plagues of human life: Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and g…

NO 1 sculptured marble here, nor… “No storied urn nor animated bust;… This simple stone directs pale Sc… To pour her sorrows o’er the Poet… ADDITIONAL STANZASShe mou…

O I’ve walked o’er yon countries… Among Airlin’s braw lasses I’ve h… Comin’ hame in the mornins, fin I… Fin I wis a plooboy on Airlin’s f… O the first thing I did, fin I ga…

THERE 1 was a lad was born in K… But whatna day o’ whatna style, I doubt it’s hardly worth the whil… To be sae nice wi’ Robin. Chor.—Robin was a rovin’ boy,

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threa… Then let the louns beware, Sir; There’s wooden walls upon our seas… And volunteers on shore, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon,

SENSIBILITY, how charming, Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell; But distress, with horrors arming, Thou alas! hast known too well! Fairest flower, behold the lily

YE true “Loyal Natives” attend t… In uproar and riot rejoice the nig… From Envy and Hatred your corps i… But where is your shield from the…

YE maggots, feed on Nicol’s brain… For few sic feasts you’ve gotten; And fix your claws in Nicol’s hea… For deil a bit o’t’s rotten.

THERE was a lass, and she was fa… At kirk or market to be seen; When a’ our fairest maids were met… The fairest maid was bonie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie’s w…

WHILE at the stook the shearers… To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r… Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour

HOW cold is that bosom which foll… How pale is that cheek where the r… How silent that tongue which the e… How dull is that ear which to flat… If sorrow and anguish their exit a…

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are p… And proper young lasses and a’, ma… But ken ye the Ronalds that live… They carry the gree frae them a’,… Their father’s laird, and weel he…