. English lyrics from Dryden to Burns . d sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. In harst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching —The Flowers of the Forest are a wede away. At een, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roamingBout stacks wi the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 15 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;The Flowers of the Fores
. English lyrics from Dryden to Burns . d sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. In harst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching —The Flowers of the Forest are a wede away. At een, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roamingBout stacks wi the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 15 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 20 We 11 hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; Women and bairns are heartless and wae;Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a wede away. Jane Elliott Hobert 3Sttrns LAMENT FOR CULLODEN The lovely lass o Inverness,Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;For een and morn she cries, Alas!And aye the saut tear blins her ee:. Robert Burns Robert Burns 99 Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 5 A waefu day it was to me!For there I lost my father dear,My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,Their graves are growing green to see: 10 And by them lies the dearest ladThat ever blest a womans ee! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,A bluidy man I trow thou be;For mony a heart thou hast made sair 15 That neer did wrang to thine or thee.,, TO A MOUSE On turning her up in her nest, with the plough,November 1785 Wee, sleekit, cowrin, timrous beastie, 0 what a panic s in thy breastie!Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi bickerin brattle! 1 wad be laith to rin an chase thee 5Wi murdrin pattle! I m truly sorry mans dominionHas broken Natures social union,An justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle 10 At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An fellow-mortal! 100 Songs and Ballads I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;What then? poor beastie, t
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdeca, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookyear1912
