« PreviousContinue »
There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar
And marked with many a seamy scar:
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,
And oft repelled th' invader's shock.
With awe-struck thought and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately dome
Famed heroes, had their royal home:
Their royal name low in the dust!
Tho' rigid Law cries out, “ 'T was just !"
Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Haply my sires have left their shed,
Bold-following where your fathers led!
Edina, Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs.
As on the banks of Ayr I strayed,
I shelter in thy honoured shade.
GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O
Green grow the rashes, 0;
Are spent among the lasses, O!
There's naught but care on ev'ry han'.
In every hour that passes, ();
An' 't were na for the lasses, O?
The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
The lassie I lo'e best :
And monie a hill between;
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her charm the air:
There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
But minds me o' my Jean.
AULD LANG SYNE
CHORUS.-For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
For auld lang syne.
And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine ;
For auld lang syne.
My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len';
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow
In poortith I might mak a fen’; What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller :
“Guid day to you”-brute !—he comes ben; He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam 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 came up the house staukin,
And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent:
When chapman billies leave the street,
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,