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ain fireside Ainslie amang auld fleckit cow auld kirk-yard Ayrshire baith ballad battle battle of Largs battle of Sheriffmuir beauty Burns Carrick Cassillis Castle Changue Covenanters Dalry Daniel Barr Dunure Earl Earl of Cassillis Edinburgh Eglintoun fair father frae Glencairn grows bonnie wi'thyme ha'e hame Hamilton Hardyknute hear my ditty heart heir of Linne ho-didel Hughie Graham James John Johnie Faa Kennedy Kilmarnock Kirkdamdie laddie Laird of Fail land Lapraik lass Lord Loudoun LOUDOUN HILL marreit married maun Maybole Montgomerie mony Muirkirk Nae bard ne'er neir gone never night º º º o'er Old King Coul parish PENTLAND HILLS PETER GALBRAITH poet Prestwick Renfrewshire rue grows bonnie sang says Scotland Scots Scottish Sir Ewart song thair thee there's thou town verses Wallace weel William
Page 60 - The noble earl was slain. He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he...
Page 30 - John o' the Scales, One forty pence for to lend mee. Away, away, thou thriftless loone; Away, away, this may not bee: For Christs curse on my head, he sayd, If ever I trust thee one pennie. Then bespake the heire of Linne, To John o' the Scales wife then spake he: Madame, some almes on me bestowe, I pray for sweet Saint Charitie.
Page 31 - Cast off, cast off your silks so fine, And lay them on a stone, For they are o'er good and o'er costly To rot in the salt sea foam.
Page 46 - It's be wi' nae consent o' me I I ken I'll ne'er come back again, An' mony mae as weel as me. " There is not ane of a' yon men, But wha is worthy other three ; There is na ane amang them a', That in his cause will stap to die.
Page 34 - A trustier beast in a' the land A Scots king nevir try'd. Go, little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives on hill sae hie, To draw his sword, the dread of faes, And haste and follow me. The little page flew swift as dart Flung by his master's arm, "Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute, And rid your king frae harm.
Page 60 - Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said, " Or else I vow I'll lay thee low ! "—
Page 31 - For well I wot thou hadst his land, And a good bargain it was to thee.
Page 28 - No shimmering sunn here ever shone ; No halesome breeze here ever blew. No chair, ne table he mote spye, No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed, Nought save a rope with renning noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head.