Other editions - View all
amang arms auld banks beauty birds body bonnie bosom braes bright Burns called charms CHORUS comes composed dear dearie early Eppie fair Farewell feel flower frae friends give glen green grows hame hand happy head heart heroine Highland hills hour I'll ilka John kiss laddie lady land lass lassie leave lines live look lyric mair Mary maun meet merry miller mind morning muse Museum nature ne'er never night o'er pleasure Poet Poet's rose says Scotland Scottish seems sing song strain stream sweet tell thee There's thing thou thought thro thyme took town true Tune verses weary weel wife wild Willie wind wish written wrote young
Page 282 - Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun : I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. IV. And fare thee weel, my only luve ! And fare thee weel a-while ! And I will come again, my luve, Tho
Page 143 - helow : Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer : Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe— My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Page 156 - 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 ! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace ; Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! III. Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with
Page 143 - My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe— My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The' birth-place of valour, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Page 135 - II. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air : There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings, III.
Page 157 - Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but th' impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? The story of Mary Campbell, and the history of this
Page 14 - prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the lasses, O. Green grow the rashes, O ! Green grow the rashes, O ! The sweetest hours that e'er I spend Are spent amang the lasses, O. The " Green grow the Rashes " of our ancestors had both spirit and freedom.
Page 47 - I. THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain ; The hunter now has left the moor, The scatter'd coveys meet secure ; While here I wander, prest with care, Along the lonely hanks of Ayr.
Page 177 - VI. Yestreen at the valentine's dealing, My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written—Tam Glen. VII. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; His likeness cam up the house staukin, And the very gray breeks o
Page 140 - By night, by day, a-field, at hame, The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; And aye I muse and sing thy name— I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, Till my last weary sand was run ; Till then—and then I love thee. The