From the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” Canto III.

AND said I that my limbs were old,
And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor withered heart was dead,
  And that I might not sing of love?—
How could I, to the...

From “The Contrivances”

GENTEEL in personage,
Conduct, and equipage,
Noble by heritage,
  Generous and free:
Brave, not romantic;
Learned, not pedantic;
Frolic, not frantic;
  This must he be.
Honor maintaining,
...

Poet: Henry Carey

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...

Poet: Robert Burns

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love’s beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there ’s no untying!

Yet remember, midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears...

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....

Poet: Robert Burns

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-...

Poet: Robert Burns

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
    And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my making dreams do I
Live o’er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
    ...

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,—
  I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not tell the reason why,
  But, O, I trembled like an aspen!

Her father’s love she bade me gain;
  I went, and shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man,—in...

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—...

Poet: Robert Burns

From “The Vicar of Wakefield”
“TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
  And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
  With hospitable ray.

“For here forlorn and lost I tread,
  With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds,...