Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.
Similar Posts
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine,
There’s mony godly folks are thinkin,Your dreams and tricksWill send you, Korah-like, a-sinkinStraught 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 fou;And then their failings, flaws, an’ wants,Are a’ seen thro’.Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it!That holy robe, O dinna tear it!Spare’t…
THOU, Liberty, thou art my theme;
Who trick thee up a heathen goddessThat a fantastic cap and rod has;Such stale conceits are poor and silly;I paint thee out, a Highland filly,A sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple,As sleek’s a mouse, as round’s an apple,That when thou pleasest canst do wonders;But when thy luckless rider blunders,Or if thy fancy should demur there,Wilt break thy…
DEAR ———, I’ll gie ye some advice,
You shouldna paint at angels mair,But try and paint the devil.To paint an Angel’s kittle wark,Wi’ Nick, there’s little danger:You’ll easy draw a lang-kent face,But no sae weel a stranger.—R. B.
O DEATH, had’st thou but spar’d his life,
We freely wad exchanged the wife,And a’ been weel content.Ev’n as he is, cauld in his graff,The swap we yet will do’t;Tak thou the carlin’s carcase aff,Thou’se get the saul o’boot.
1 Is there, for honest poverty,
3 The coward slave, we pass him by,4 We dare be poor for a’ that!5 For a’ that, an’ a’ that,6 Our toils obscure, an’ a’ that;7 The rank is but the guinea’s stamp;8 The man’s the gowd for a’ that,9 What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,10 Wear hoddin-gray, an’ a’ that;11 Gie fools…
WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
Where’er I gaed, where’er I rade,A mistress still I had aye.But when I came roun’ by Mauchline toun,Not dreadin anybody,My heart was caught, before I thought,And by a Mauchline lady.
Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.
Similar Posts
THE GLOOMY night is gath’ring fast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,I see it driving o’er the plain;The hunter now has left the moor.The scatt’red coveys meet secure;While here I wander, prest with care,Along the lonely banks of Ayr.The Autumn mourns her rip’ning cornBy early Winter’s ravage torn;Across her placid, azure sky,She sees the scowling tempest fly:Chill runs my blood…
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
When Phoebus gies a short-liv’d glow’r,Far south the lift,Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r,Or whirling drift:Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,While burns, wi’ snawy wreeths upchoked,Wild-eddying swirl,Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,Down headlong hurl.List’ning, the doors an’ winnocks rattle,I thought me on the ourie cattle,Or silly sheep, wha bide…
O thou! whatever title suit thee,-
Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie,Clos’d under hatches,Spairges about the brunstane cootieTo scaud poor wretches!Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,An’ let poor damned bodies be;I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,E’en to a deil,To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,An’ hear us squeel!Great is thy pow’r, an’ great thy fame;Far ken’d an’…
WHOSE 1 is that noble, dauntless brow?
And whose that generous princely mien,E’en rooted foes admire?Stranger! to justly show that brow,And mark that eye of fire,Would take His hand, whose vernal tintsHis other works admire.Bright as a cloudless summer sun,With stately port he moves;His guardian Seraph eyes with aweThe noble Ward he loves.Among the illustrious Scottish sonsThat chief thou may’st discern,Mark Scotia’s…
DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
And dire the discord Langside sawFor beauteous, hapless Mary:But Scot to Scot ne’er met so hot,Or were more in fury seen, Sir,Than ‘twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job,Who should be the Faculty’s Dean, Sir.This Hal for genius, wit and lore,Among the first was number’d;But pious Bob, ‘mid learning’s store,Commandment the tenth remember’d:Yet simple…
THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
When a’ our fairest maids were met,The fairest maid was bonie Jean.And aye she wrought her mammie’s wark,And aye she sang sae merrilie;The blythest bird upon the bushHad ne’er a lighter heart than she.But hawks will rob the tender joysThat bless the little lintwhite’s nest;And frost will blight the fairest flowers,And love will break the…