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

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o’ dawn are fled, In a’ its crimson glory

NO more of your guests, be they titled or not, And cookery the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation.

THE WINTRY west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw: While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae

SWEET naïveté of feature, Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, Thou art acting but thyself. Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, Spurning Nature, torturing art; Loves and Graces all rejected,

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

FROM the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloris requested A sprig, her fair breast to adorn: No, by Heavens! I exclaim’d, let me perish, if ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!

SENSIBILITY, how charming, Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell; But distress, with horrors arming, Thou alas! hast known too well! Fairest flower, behold the lily Blooming in the sunny ray: Let the blast sweep o’er

YOU’RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier; You’re welcome to Despots, Dumourier: How does Dampiere do? Ay, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? I will fight France with you, Dumourier;

RecitativoWHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird, Or wavering like the bauckie-bird, Bedim cauld Boreas’ blast; When hailstanes drive wi’ bitter skyte, And infant frosts begin to bite, In hoary cranreuch drest; Ae night at

ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.WOW, but your letter made me vauntie! And are ye hale, and weel and cantie? I ken’d it still, your wee bit jauntie Wad bring ye to: Lord send you aye

SWEET closes the ev’ning on Craigieburn Wood, And blythely awaukens the morrow; But the pride o’ the spring in the Craigieburn Wood Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. Chorus.-Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee,

RASH 1 mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, Says, the more ’tis a truth,

THOU ling’ring star, with lessening ray, That lov’st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher’st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy

NOW westlin winds and slaught’ring guns Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring wings Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon

HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;- If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield’s amang you takin notes, And, faith, he’ll

O MAY, thy morn was ne’er so sweet As the mirk night o’ December! For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she I dare na name, But

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 flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o care! Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie bird, That sings

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever been Their stay and dwelling place! Before the mountains heav’d their heads Beneath Thy forming hand,

May-, 1786.I LANG hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento: But how the subject-theme may gang, Let time

DEAR Myra, the captive ribband’s mine, ‘Twas all my faithful love could gain; And would you ask me to resign The sole reward that crowns my pain? Go, bid the hero who has run

WHY, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat’ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why At my presence thus you fly? Why disturb your social joys, Parent, filial, kindred ties?- Common friend to

I DREAM’D I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam; List’ning to the wild birds singing, By a falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro’ the woods

SIR, Yours this moment I unseal, And faith I’m gay and hearty! To tell the truth and shame the deil, I am as fou as Bartie: But Foorsday, sir, my promise leal, Expect me

HERE is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade; The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid? ‘Tis not Maria’s whispering call; ‘Tis but the

IF ye gae up to yon hill-tap, Ye’ll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth’s a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, Besides a handsome fortune:

BY all I lov’d, neglected and forgot, No friendly face e’er lights my squalid cot; Shunn’d, hated, wrong’d, unpitied, unredrest, The mock’d quotation of the scorner’s jest! Ev’n the poor súpport of my wretched

O THOU, in whom we live and move- Who made the sea and shore; Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore; And, if it please Thee, Power above! Still grant us, with

ALTHO’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller, I dinna envy him the gains he can win; I rather wad bear a’ the lade o’ my sorrow, Than ever hae acted sae

INSTEAD of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast; Here’s to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!- That we lost, did I say?-nay, by Heav’n, that we found; For

O WHEN she cam’ ben she bobbed fu’ law, O when she cam’ ben she bobbed fu’ law, And when she cam’ ben, she kiss’d Cockpen, And syne denied she did it at a’.

O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. O wha will own he did the

THE SUN had clos’d the winter day, The curless quat their roarin play, And hunger’d maukin taen her way, To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher’s

THE GLOOMY night is gath’ring fast, Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor. The

O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting

KILMARNOCK wabsters, fidge an’ claw, An’ pour your creeshie nations; An’ ye wha leather rax an’ draw, Of a’ denominations; Swith to the Ligh Kirk, ane an’ a’ An’ there tak up your stations;

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;

OF 1 a’ the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best: There’s wild-woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a

THE TOASTFILL me with the rosy wine, Call a toast, a toast divine: Giveth me Poet’s darling flame, Lovely Jessie be her name; Then thou mayest freely boast, Thou hast given a peerless toast.

OLD Winter, with his frosty beard, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: “What have I done of all the year, To bear this hated doom severe? My cheerless suns no pleasure know; Night’s

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No sly man of business contriving a snare, For a big-belly’d bottle’s the whole of

He. O PHILLY, happy be that day, When roving thro’ the gather’d hay, My youthfu’ heart was stown away, And by thy charms, my Philly. She. O Willy, aye I bless the grove Where

DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation! mark, Who in widow-weeds appears, Laden with unhonour’d years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse? STROPHE View the wither’d Beldam’s

TO you, sir, this summons I’ve sent, Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing; But if you demand what I want, I honestly answer you-naething. Ne’er scorn a poor Poet like me, For idly

Chorus.-MY lady’s gown, there’s gairs upon’t, And gowden flowers sae rare upon’t; But Jenny’s jimps and jirkinet, My lord thinks meikle mair upon’t. My lord a-hunting he is gone, But hounds or hawks wi’

YOUNG JAMIE, pride of a’ the plain, Sae gallant and sae gay a swain, Thro’ a’ our lasses he did rove, And reign’d resistless King of Love. But now, wi’ sighs and starting tears,

MUSING on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me; Wearying heav’n in warm devotion, For his weal where’er he be. Hope and Fear’s alternate billow Yielding late to Nature’s law, Whispering spirits

FAIR fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o’a grace As lang’s my arm. The groaning

CONTENTED wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair, Whene’er I forgather wi’ Sorrow and Care, I gie them a skelp as they’re creeping alang, Wi’ a cog o’ gude swats and an auld Scottish sang.