Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.
“Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short but simple annals of the poor.”
—GRAY.
MY loved, my honored, much-respected...
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HE ’s gane, he ’s gane! he ’s frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e’er was born!
Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel’ shall mourn
By wood and wild,
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn,
Frae man exiled.
Ye hills, near...
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Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min’?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne?
CHORUS
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We ’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For...
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Green grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent amang the lasses O!
There ’s naught but care on ev’ry han’,
In every hour that passes O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
An ’t were...
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Adapted
GIN a body meet a body
Comin’ through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Every lassie has her laddie,—
Ne’er a ane hae I;
Yet a’ the lads they smile at me
When comin’ through the rye....
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O Whistle, and I ’ll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I ’ll come to you, my lad,
Tho’ father and mither and a’ should gae mad,
O whistle, and I ’ll come to you, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-...
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Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo—
Ha, ha! the wooing o’t!
On blythe Yule night when we were fou—
Ha, ha! the wooing o’t!
Maggie coose her head fu’ high,
Looke asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh—...
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Let not woman e’er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e’er complain
Fickle man is apt to rove;
Look abroad through Nature’s range,
Nature’s mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange
Man should then a monster...
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She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o’ mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never lo’ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I ’ll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.
She is a...
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The Day returns, my bosom burns;
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
Ne’er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o’er the sultry line,—
Than kingly robes, and...
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