271. Song-John Anderson, My Jo

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1. John Anderson John Anderson, my jo John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo! John Anderson, my jo John, We clamb the hill thegither, And […]...
2. 101. Song-Composed in Spring AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues: Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep’d in morning dews. Chorus.-And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e? For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk, An’ it winna let a body be. […]...
3. 217. Song-The Lad they ca' Jumpin John HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad Forbidden she wadna be: She wadna trow’t the browst she brew’d, Wad taste sae bitterlie. Chorus.-The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John Beguil’d the bonie lassie, The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John Beguil’d the bonie lassie. A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, And thretty gude shillin’s […]...
4. 233. Song-O were I on Parnassus Hill O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well, My Muse maun be thy bonie sel’, On Corsincon I’ll glowr and spell, And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet […]...
5. Peter Anderson And Co He had offices in Sydney, not so many years ago, And his shingle bore the legend ‘Peter Anderson and Co.’, But his real name was Careless, as the fellows understood And his relatives decided that he wasn’t any good. ‘Twas their gentle tongues that blasted any ‘character’ he had He was fond of beer and […]...
6. 368. Song-Scroggam, my dearie THERE was a wife wonn’d in Cockpen, Scroggam; She brew’d gude ale for gentlemen; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. The gudewife’s dochter fell in a fever, Scroggam; The priest o’ the parish he fell in anither; Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. […]...
7. 41. Epistle to John Rankine O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drinkin! There’s mony godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin Straught to auld Nick’s. Ye hae saw mony cracks an’ cants, And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye mak a devil o’ the saunts, An’ fill them […]...
8. 513. Song-Steer her up and haud her gaun O STEER her up, an’ haud her gaun, Her mither’s at the mill, jo; An’ gin she winna tak a man, E’en let her tak her will, jo. First shore her wi’ a gentle kiss, And ca’ anither gill, jo; An’ gin she tak the thing amiss, E’en let her flyte her fill, jo. O […]...
9. John Barleycorn There were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head; An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerfu’ spring came kindly on, […]...
10. 26. John Barleycorn: A Ballad THERE was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough’d him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, […]...
11. John Evereldown “Where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are you going, John Evereldown? There’s never the sign of a star in sight, Nor a lamp that’s nearer than Tilbury Town. Why do you stare as a dead man might? Where are you pointing away from the light? And where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are […]...
12. A Ballad of John Nicholson It fell in the year of Mutiny, At darkest of the night, John Nicholson by Jalбndhar came, On his way to Delhi fight. And as he by Jalбndhar came, He thought what he must do, And he sent to the Rajah fair greeting, To try if he were true. “God grant your Highness length of […]...
13. John Gorham “Tell me what you’re doing over here, John Gorham, Sighing hard and seeming to be sorry when you’re not; Make me laugh or let me go now, for long faces in the moonlight Are a sign for me to say again a word that you forgot.”- “I’m over here to tell you what the moon […]...
14. 77. Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper HERE lies Johnie Pigeon; What was his religion? Whae’er desires to ken, To some other warl’ Maun follow the carl, For here Johnie Pigeon had nane! Strong ale was ablution, Small beer persecution, A dram was memento mori; But a full-flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial glory....
15. 377. Song-The Country Lass IN simmer, when the hay was mawn, And corn wav’d green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o’er the lea And roses blaw in ilka beild! Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says-“I’ll be wed, come o’t what will”: Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild; “O’ gude advisement comes nae ill. “It’s ye […]...
16. 334. Song-Fragment-Damon and Sylvia YON wandering rill that marks the hill, And glances o’er the brae, Sir, Slides by a bower, where mony a flower Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir; There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, To love they thought no crime, Sir, The wild birds sang, the echoes rang, While Damon’s heart beat time, Sir....
17. No, Thank You John I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always “do” and “pray”? You Know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an […]...
18. 52. Epitaph on John Rankine AE day, as Death, that gruesome carl, Was driving to the tither warl’ A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad- Black gowns of each denomination, And thieves of every rank and station, From him that wears the star and garter, To him that wintles in a halter: Ashamed himself to see the wretches, […]...
19. 276. Song-Whistle o'er the lave o't FIRST when Maggie was my care, Heav’n, I thought, was in her air, Now we’re married-speir nae mair, But whistle o’er the lave o’t! Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Sweet and harmless as a child- Wiser men than me’s beguil’d; Whistle o’er the lave o’t! How we live, my Meg and me, How […]...
20. 465. Song-It was a' for our rightfu' King IT was a’ for our rightfu’ King We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was a’ for our rightfu’ King We e’er saw Irish land, my dear, We e’er saw Irish land. Now a’ is done that men can do, And a’ is done in vain; My Love and Native Land fareweel, For I maun cross […]...
21. 132. Reply to a Trimming Epistle, received from a Tailor WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie bitch To thresh my back at sic a pitch? Losh, man! hae mercy wi’ your natch, Your bodkin’s bauld; I didna suffer half sae much Frae Daddie Auld. What tho’ at times, when I grow crouse, I gie their wames a random pouse, Is that enough for you to […]...
22. On John Dawson, Butler Of C. C Dawson the Butler’s dead: Although I think Poets were ne’er infusde with single drinke Ile spend a farthing muse; some watry verse Will serve the turne to cast upon his hearse; If any cannot weepe amongst us here Take off his pott, and so squeeze out a tear: Weepe, O his cheeses, weepe till yee […]...
23. 70. Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math WHILE at the stook the shearers cow’r To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r, Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My musie, tir’d wi’ mony a sonnet On gown, an’ ban’, an’ douse black bonnet, Is grown right eerie now she’s done it, Lest […]...
24. 417. Song-Blythe hae I been on yon hill BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free, As the breeze flew o’er me; Now nae langer sport and play, Mirth or sang can please me; LESLEY is sae fair and coy, Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring; Trembling, […]...
25. 522. Song-The Cardin o't, the Spinning o't I COFT a stane o’ haslock woo’, To mak a wab to Johnie o’t; For Johnie is my only jo, I loe him best of onie yet. Chorus.-The cardin’ o’t, the spinnin’ o’t, The warpin’ o’t, the winnin’ o’t; When ilka ell cost me a groat, The tailor staw the lynin’ o’t. For tho’ his […]...
26. John Skelton What could be dafter Than John Skelton’s laughter? What sound more tenderly Than his pretty poetry? So where to rank old Skelton? He was no monstrous Milton, Nor wrote no “Paradise Lost,” So wondered at by most, Phrased so disdainfully, Composed so painfully. He struck what Milton missed, Milling an English grist With homely turn […]...
27. 324. Song-The Charms of Lovely Davies O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o’ lovely Davies. Each eye it cheers when she appears, Like Phoebus in the morning, When […]...
28. St. John's, Cambridge I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade Thy western window, Chapel of St. John! And hear its leaves repeat their benison On him, whose hand thy stones memorial laid; Then I remember one of whom was said In the world’s darkest hour, “Behold thy son!” And see him living still, and wandering on And […]...
29. 158. Song-The Bonie Moor-hen THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn, Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, O’er moors and o’er mosses and mony a glen, At length they discover’d a bonie moor-hen. Chorus.-I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men, I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men; Take some on the […]...
30. 350. Epistle to John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty HEALTH to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief! Health, aye unsour’d by care or grief: Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl leaf, This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o’ prief, Scarce quite half-worn. This day thou metes threescore eleven, And I can tell that bounteous Heaven (The second-sight, ye ken, is given To ilka Poet) […]...
31. John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank- Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of […]...
32. John Rouat the Fisherman Margaret Simpson was the daughter of humble parents in the county of Ayr, With a comely figure, and face of beauty rare, And just in the full bloom of her womanhood, Was united to John Rouat, a fisherman good. John’s fortune consisted of his coble, three oars, and his fishing-gear, Besides his two stout boys, […]...
33. 283. Song-Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut O WILLIE 1 brew’d a peck o’ maut, And Rob and Allen cam to see; Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, Ye wadna found in Christendie. Chorus.-We are na fou, we’re nae that fou, But just a drappie in our ee; The cock may craw, the day may daw And aye we’ll taste the barley […]...
34. 33. Song-"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay “WHA is that at my bower-door?” “O wha is it but Findlay!” “Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be here:” “Indeed maun I,” quo’ Findlay; “What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?” “O come and see,” quo’ Findlay; “Before the morn ye’ll work mischief:” “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay. “Gif I rise and let you […]...
35. John Keats Who killed John Keats? ‘I,’ says the Quarterly, So savage and Tartarly; ”Twas one of my feats.’ Who shot the arrow? ‘The poet-priest Milman (So ready to kill man), Or Southey or Barrow.’...
36. 416. Song-Logan Braes O LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie’s bride, And years sin syne hae o’er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun: But now thy flowery banks appear Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again […]...
37. 287. Song-The Battle of Sherramuir “O CAM ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra-moor, Or did the battle see, man?” I saw the battle, sair and teugh, And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh; My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the […]...
38. 426. Song-By Allan Stream BY Allan stream I chanc’d to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi; The winds are whispering thro’ the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready: I listen’d to a lover’s sang, An’ thought on youthfu’ pleasures mony; And aye the wild-wood echoes rang- “O, dearly do I love thee, Annie! “O, happy be the woodbine […]...
39. 288. Song-The Braes o' Killiecrankie WHERE hae ye been sae braw, lad? Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O? Chorus.-An ye had been whare I hae been, Ye wad na been sae cantie, O; An ye had seen what I hae seen, I’ the Braes o’ Killiecrankie, O. […]...
40. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...