DUNCAN GRAY

  Duncan Gray cam here to woo
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!),
  On blythe Yule Night when we were fou
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!). 
  Maggie coost her head fu’ high,
  Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
  Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh—­
  Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!

  Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!);
  Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!). 
  Duncan sighed baith out and in,
  Grat his een baith bleer’t an’ blin’,
  Spak o’ lowpin o’er a linn—­
  Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!

  Time and chance are but a tide
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!): 
  Slighted love is sair to bide
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!). 
  ‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,
  ’For a haughty hizzie die? 
  She may gae to—­France for me!’—­
  Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!

  How it comes let doctors tell
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!): 
  Meg grew sick as he grew hale
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!);
  Something in her bosom wrings,
  For relief a sigh she brings;
  And O her een, they spak sic things!—­
  Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!

  Duncan was a lad o’ grace
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!). 
  Maggie’s was a piteous case
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!): 
  Duncan could na be her death,
  Swelling pity smoored his wrath;
  Now they’re crouse and canty baith—­
  Ha, ha, the wooing o’t!

  HIGHLAND MARY

  Ye banks and braes and streams around
  The castle o’ Montgomery,
  Green be your woods and fair your flowers,
  Your waters never drumlie! 
  There Summer first unfald her robes,
  And there the langest tarry! 
  For there I took the last fareweel
  O’ my sweet Highland Mary.

  How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
  How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
  As, underneath their fragrant shade,
  I clasped her to my bosom! 
  The golden hours, on angel wings,
  Flew o’er me and my dearie;
  For dear to me as light and life
  Was my sweet Highland Mary.

  Wi’ monie a vow and locked embrace,
  Our parting was fu’ tender;
  And, pledging aft to meet again,
  We tore oursels asunder. 
  But O fell Death’s untimely frost,
  That nipt my flower sae early! 
  Now green’s the sod and cauld’s the clay
  That wraps my Highland Mary!

  O pale, pale now those rosy lips
  I aft hae kissed sae fondly! 
  And closed for ay the sparkling glance
  That dwelt on me sae kindly! 
  And mouldering now in silent dust
  That heart that lo’ed me dearly! 
  But still within my bosom’s core
  Shall live my Highland Mary!

  SCOTS, WHA HAE

  Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
  Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
  Welcome to your gory bed,
  Or to victorie!

  Now’s the day, and now’s the hour! 
  See the front o’ battle lour! 
  See approach proud Edward’s power—­
  Chains and slaverie!