Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore 185
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte
Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie !.
Hark! the mavis' evening sang.
Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil?
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crawlin ferlie!
Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief!
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots .
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist.
Hee balou my sweet wee Donald
He looked Just as your Sign-post lions do 281
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie.
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct
Here comes Burns

I am my mammie's ae bairn

'I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn
I call no Goddess to inspire my strains

I coft a stane o' haslock woo'.

I do confess thou art sae fair.

I dream'd I lay where flowers were
springing.

If thou should ask my love
If ye gae up to yon hill-tap
If you rattle along like

tongue.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen

I gaed up to Dunse

I

gat your letter, winsome Willie
I had sax owsen in a pleugh

I hae a wife o' my ain

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend

In simmer when the hay was mawn
Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you a

255

114

148

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near.

187

42

I married with a scolding wife

74

I met a lass, a bonie lass

In politics if thou wouldst mix

My Chloris, mark how green the groves.
My curse upon thy venom'd stang.

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten
O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie !
O, Lady Mary Ann.

My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick
border O.

My Harry was a gallant gay

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie

Lassie, art thou sleeping yet?
Old Winter with his frosty beard
O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide.
O Lord, when hunger pinches sore.
O luve will venture in, where it daur na
weel be seen.

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet
O Mary, at thy window be

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet
O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty
O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle.
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour.
O, my luve's like a red, red rose
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair
Nae heathen name shall I prefix
No churchman am I for to rail and to
write

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd

No more of your guests, be they titled

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell.
On peace and rest my mind was bent.

.

not.

No more, ye warblers of the wood-no

O Philly, happy be that day.

O poortith cauld, and restless love

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous

lay.

No song nor dance I bring from yon great
city.

O rattlin', roarin' Willie

No Stewart art thou, Galloway.

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green

Now health forsakes that angel face
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature

O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine.
Orthodox, orthodox.

Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John

Knox

O sad and heavy should I part

O saw ye bonie Lesley.