By Ochtertyre grows the aik By yon castle wa', at the close of the day Can I cease to care Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life Dear, I'll gie ye some advice Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell Fair maid, you need not take the hint Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame Farewell, dear Friend! may guid luck hit you Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and First when Maggy was my care 218 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes 150 Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 278 55 334 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore Had I the wyte, had I the wyte Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! Hark! the mavis' evening sang He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead Page He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist. 64 59 281 348 281 250 88 Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct 18 71 99 63 He looked Just as your Sign-post lions do Here comes Burns. Here is the glen, and here the bower Here lie Willie Michie's banes Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm' Here lies a rose, a budding rose Here lies John Bushby, honest man! Here lies Johnny Pidgeon Here sowter Hood in Death does sleep His face with smile eternal drest 71 18 70 69 67 19 224 254 282 283 348 76 How can my poor heart be glad 99 How cruel are the parents 113 How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced. 74 How lang and dreary is the night. 103 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon 'I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn I hae a wife o' my ain. I married with a scolding wife I met a lass, a bonie lass I murder hate by field or flood. If thou should ask my love If ye gae up to yon hill-tap If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue Ilk care and fear, when thou art near I'll ay ca' in by yon town In coming by the brig o' Dye 261 260 In simmer when the hay was mawn In this strange land, this uncouth clime. 142 20 Page In Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men. 252 40 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng 26 Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you a Toast Is there a whim-inspired fool Is there, for honest poverty. 206 It is na, Jean, thy bonie face 287 It was a' for our rightfu' King. 286 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral 279 It was the charming month of May 180 It was upon a Lammas night 190 Last May a braw wooer came down the lang glen Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Louis, what reck I by thee My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here No churchman am I for to rail and to write 196 Now spring has clad the groves in green Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns. O bonie was yon rosy brier O cam ye here the fight to shun O can ye labour lea, young man O, could I give thee India's wealth O'Death, hadst thou but spar'd his life O gie my love brose, brose O Goudie! terror o' the Whigs O how can I be blithe and glad O how shall I, unskilfu', try O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten. O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie ! O, Lady Mary Ann O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet? 208 195 116 213 50 26 170 292 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 Mally's meek, Mally's sweet O luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen 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 Philly, happy be that day O poortith cauld, and restless love O raging fortune's withering blast O rattlin', roarin' Willie O sad and heavy should I part. O saw ye bonie Lesley 294 247 141 89 72 145 298 232 153 137 296 85 154 219 IS2 83 243 297 299 238 O saw ye my dear, my Phely? O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? O wha will to Saint Stephen's house. 301 O whare live ye, my bonie lass O, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock? O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 300 330 94 O why the deuce should I repine. 260 O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 133 O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 270 69 O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace Oh! had each Scot of ancient times Oh! I am come to the low countrie Oh, open the door, some pity to shew On a bank of flowers, in a summer day One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair 130 39 65 295 86 241 225 249 57 258 27 275 169 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? 104 Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires 243 So heavy, passive to the tempests' shocks. Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood 271 109 |