331. Epigram at Brownhill Inn
AT 1 Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, And plenty of bacon each day in the year; We’ve a’ thing that’s nice, and mostly in season, But why always Bacon-come, tell me a
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,
25. My Father was a Farmer: A Ballad
MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing, O;
13. Song-Bonie Peggy Alison
Chor.-And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, And I’ll kiss thee o’er again: And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, My bonie Peggy Alison. ILK care and fear, when thou art near I evermair defy them,
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
74. Fragment-Her Flwoing Locks
HER flowing locks, the raven’s wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to cling, And round that neck entwine her! Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew, O’ what
338. Song-My Tocher's the Jewel
O MEIKLE thinks my luve o’ my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o’ my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie My tocher’s the jewel has charms for him. It’s a’
547. Verses to Collector Mitchell
FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal, Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal; Alake, alake, the meikle deil Wi’ a’ his witches Are at it skelpin jig and reel, In my poor pouches?
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
395. Sonnet on the Author's Birthday
SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, See aged Winter, ‘mid his surly reign, At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow. So in
Fareweel To A'Our Scottish Fame
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish name, Sae famed in martial story! Now Sark rins over Solway sands, And Tweed rins to the ocean, To
66. Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux
NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair, He’ll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi’ hungry stare, Nae mair shall fear him; Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, E’er mair come
164. Song-A Bottle and Friend
HERE’S a bottle and an honest friend! What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end, What his share may be o’ care, man? Then catch the moments as
421. Epitaph on a Lap-dog
IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half
8. Song-Montgomerie's Peggy
ALTHO’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie; Yet happy, happy would I be, Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Peggy. When o’er the hill beat surly storms, And winter