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But for the dirty, yawning fool
And discontent devour him!
And nane say "wae's me" for him!
The reel o' Tullochgorum!
A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause
In Whose dread presence, ere an hour,
If I have wandered in those paths
As something loudly in my breast
Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me
And list'ning to their witching voice
Where human weakness has come short,
Do Thou, All Good-for such Thou art,--
Where with intention I have erred,
No other plea I have
But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
MY NANIE, O
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has closed, And I'll awa to Nanie, O.
The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill,
My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
A country lad is my degree,
An' few there be that ken me, O;
My riches a's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, O;
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;
Come weel, come woe, I care na by;
But live an' love my Nanie, O.
O Mary, at thy window be;
It is the wished, the trysted hour!
That make the miser's treasure poor!
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
I sat, but neither heard or saw:
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
The thought o' Mary Morison.
THE HOLY FAIR
Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
I walked forth to view the corn,
The rising sun, owre Galston muirs,
Quoth I, "Wi' a' my heart, I'll do 't:
Faith, we 'se hae fine remarkin !"
In droves that day.
Here farmers gash, in ridin graith,
There swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
Fu' crump that day.
When by the plate we set our nose,
On ev'ry side they're gath'rin,
Right loud that day.
Here some are thinkin on their sins,
Ane curses feet that fyled his shins,
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
Thrang winkin on the lasses
To chairs that day.