The pocket encyclopedia of Scottish, English, and Irish songs, selected from the works of the most eminent poets; with original pieces, and notes (Google eBook)

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Page 95 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...
Page 33 - MY JO. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Page 34 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Page 18 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa', Let him follow me!
Page 311 - Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize ; The sodger's wealth is...
Page 162 - My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!
Page 25 - By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Page 135 - Glen? Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten : For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; His likeness cam up the house staukin And the very grey breeks o...
Page 25 - Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Page 198 - Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man, for a

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