Far in the chambers of the west, The gale had sigh’d itself to rest… The moon was cloudless now and cle… But pale, and soon to disappear. The thin grey clouds wax dimly lig…

The Abbot on the threshold stood, And in his hand the holy rood: Then, cloaking hate with fiery zea… Proud Lorn first answered the app… ‘Thou comest, O holy man,

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

Farewell, merry maidens, to song,… For the brave lads of Westra are… And we must have labour, and hunge… Ere we dance with the maids of Du… For now, in our trim boats of Nor…

’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,

O, will you hear a knightly tale o… It was the noble Moringer in wedl… He halsed and kiss’d his dearest d… And said, ‘Now, lady of my heart,… II.

In Imitation of An Old English… My wayward fate I needs must plai… Though bootless be the theme; I loved, and was beloved again, Yet all was but a dream:

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and… As in that well-remember’d night When first thy mystic braid was wo… And first my Agnes whisper’d love… Since then how often hast thou pre…

An hour with thee! When earliest… Dapples with gold the eastern gray… Oh, what can frame my mind to bear The toil and turmoil, cark and car… New griefs, which coming hours unf…

Waken, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day; All the jolly chase is here With hawk and horse and hunting-sp… Hounds are in their couples yellin…

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 soul… 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…

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotd… Why the deil dinna ye march forwar… March, march, Eskdale and Liddesd… All the Blue Bonnets are bound fo… Many a banner spread,

November’s sky is chill and drear, November’s leaf is red and sear: Late, gazing down the steepy linn That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen

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