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ain true love Allan Allan water amang auld baith ballad baloo banks beautiful Birks of Aberfeldy blythe boatie rows bonnie lassie braes braw bride BURNS canna cauld Complaynt of Scotland dance dear dearie Donald Macgillavry doun e'en e'er Edinburgh fair Farewell flowers frae gang Gilderoy glen green gude gudeman gudewife hame heart Herd's Collection Highland Highland laddie hills ilka Jacobite Jenny John Tod Johnnie king kiss laddie lady laird lass lo'e Lochaber lover maun merry nae mair ne'er never o'er ower padda Pinkie House puir Ramsay Rob Morris sang Scotland Scots Scots Musical Museum Scottish song sing sung sweet Tea-Table Miscellany thee There's thou toun tune TUNE–The verses wadna weel Whigs wife Willie ye're yestreen young
Page 19 - I'll wage thee! Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met - or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Page 290 - 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 ? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love...
Page 234 - But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Page 155 - A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie ca'da lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that — Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that ; For a* that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a
Page 14 - A 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 the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. " This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
Page 234 - I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,- And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.
Page 82 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.
Page 288 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O
Page liv - At the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century...
Page 289 - Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O 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?