Sir Walter Scott
Lochinvar
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarm’d, and he
Lullaby of an Infant Chief
hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie,
The Maid of Neidpath
O lovers’ eyes are sharp to see, And lovers’ ears in hearing; And love, in life’s extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary’s bower And slow decay from mourning,
Pibroch of Donail Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan-Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen
Jock of Hazeldean
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I’ll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride: And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Sae
Gathering Song of Donald the Black
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Pibroch of Donuil Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil! Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war-array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen,
Where Shall the Lover Rest
Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From the true maiden’s breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the fair billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow.
County Guy
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who thrill’d all day Sits
MacGregor's Gathering
The moon’s on the lake, and the mist’s on the brae, And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! Gather, gather, gather, &c. Our signal for
The Rover's Adieu
weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien, A feather of
Datur Hora Quieti
The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song, The hills have evening’s deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long. Now all whom varied toil and care From home and love
To a Lock of Hair
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well – remember’d night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper’d love. Since then how often hast thou
Patriotism 01 Innominatus
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, ‘This is my own, my native land!’ Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d As home his footsteps he hath
Bonny Dundee
To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke. ‘Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet
On Leaving Mrs. Brown's Lodgings
So goodbye, Mrs. Brown, I am going out of town, Over dale, over down, Where bugs bite not, Where lodgers fight not, Where below your chairmen drink not, Where beside your gutters stink not;