The Flowers Of The Forest
The lady who wrote this haunting song of national sorrow was the daughter of Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto, Lord Justice-clerk of Scotland. She died in 1805. It is said that, fo...The Flowers Of The Forest
The lady who wrote this haunting song of national sorrow was the daughter of Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto, Lord Justice-clerk of Scotland. She died in 1805. It is said that, following a talk about the disaster at Flodden, Sir Gilbert offered a bet that Miss Jean could not compose a ballad on the subject. How magnificently she pieced together the fragments of a lost ballad may be judged from this reply to the challenge.
I've heard the lilting at our yowe-milking,
Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day;
But now they are moaning in ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
At buchts, in the morning, nae biythe lads are scorning, The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae damn', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away.
In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, The 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 e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming, 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Dule and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border! The English, for aince, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that focht aye the foremost, The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay.
Weir hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking,
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Jean Elliot.
O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
Robert Burns
O wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms
a...O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
Robert Burns
O wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms
around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare.
The desert were a Paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there;
Or were I Monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my Crown
Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen.
Gifts by James Thomson
GIVE a man a horse he can ride,
Give a man a boat he can sail;
And his rank and wealth, his strength and health,
On sea nor shore shall fail.
Give a man a pipe he can smoke,
Give a ma...Gifts by James Thomson
GIVE a man a horse he can ride,
Give a man a boat he can sail;
And his rank and wealth, his strength and health,
On sea nor shore shall fail.
Give a man a pipe he can smoke,
Give a man a book he can read:
And his home is bright with a calm delight,
Though the room be poor indeed.
Give a man a girl he can love,
As I, O my love, love thee;
And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate,
At home, on land, on sea.
The Soldier's Return: A Ballad
Robert Burns (1793)
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and t...The Soldier's Return: A Ballad
Robert Burns (1793)
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander:
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom:
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I've serv'd my king and country lang.
Take pity on a sodger."
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge-the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."
She gaz'd,she redden'd like a rose,
Syne pale like only lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
"Art thou my ain dear Willie?"
"By him who made yon sun and sky!
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.
"The wars are o'™er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd,
A maiden plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!"
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honor:
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
a posthumously published poem by Tobias Smollett.
To Independence
Strophe.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share,
Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the s...a posthumously published poem by Tobias Smollett.
To Independence
Strophe.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share,
Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Deep in the frozen regions of the north,
A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal Liberty! whose look sublime
Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying clime.
What time the iron-hearted Gaul,
With frantic superstition for his guide,
Arm'd with the dagger and the pall,
The sons of Woden to the field defied;
The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,
In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow;
And red the stream began to flow:
The vanquish'd were baptized with blood!
Antistrophe.
The Saxon prince in horror fled
From altars stained with human gore;
And Liberty his routed legions led,
In safety, to the bleak Norwegian shore.
There in a cave asleep she lay,
Lull'd by the hoarse-resounding main;
When a bold savage pass'd that way,
Impell'd by destiny, - his name Disdain.
Of ample front the portly chief appear'd:
The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest;
The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard;
And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast.
He stopp'd - he gazed - his bosom glow'd,
And deeply felt th' impression of her charms:
He seized th' advantage Fate allow'd;
And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arms.
Strophe.
The curlew scream'd, the tritons blew
Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite;
Old Time exulted as he flew;
The light he saw in Albion's happy plains,
Where under cover of a flowering thorn,
Wile Philomel renew'd her warbled strains,
Th' auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was born -
The mountain dryads seized with joy
The smiling infant to their charge consign'd;
The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy;
The hermit Wisdom stored his opening mind.
As rolling years matured his age,
He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire;
While the mild passions in his breast assuage
The fiercer flames of his maternal sire.
Antistrophe.
Accomplish'd thus, he wing'd his way,
And zealous roved from pole to pole,
The rolls of right eternal to display,
And warm with patriot thoughts th' aspiring soul.
On desert isles 'twas he that raised
Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
Where Tyranny beheld amazed
Fair Freedom's Temple, where he mark'd her grave.
He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms
To burst th' Iberian's double chain;
And cities rear'd, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain.
He, with the generous rustics, sate
On Uri's rocks in close divan;
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man.
Strophe.
Arabia's scorching sand he cross'd,
Where blasted Nature pants supine,
To Freedom's adamantine shrine;
And many a Tartar-horde forlorn, aghast,
He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing;
And taught amidst the dreary waste
Th' all-cheering hymns of Liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffused through every baser mould,
E'en now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,
And turns the dross of Corsica to gold.
He, guardian genius, taught my youth
Pomp's tinsel livery to despise:
My lips, by him chastised to truth,
Ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies.
Antistrophe.
Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread,
Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity combined,
To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread;
And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind.
Where Insolence his wrinkled front uprears,
And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow;
And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears,
Full often wreathed around the miscreant's brow;
Where ever dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain,
Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth;
And pale Disease, with all his bloated train,
Torments the sons of Gluttony and Sloth.
Strophe.
In Fortune's ear behold that minion ride,
With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd:
so moves the sumpter-mule, in harness'd pride,
That bears the treasure which he cannot taste.
For him let venal bards disgrace the bay,
And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string;
Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay;
And all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring;
Disquiet, Doubt, and Dread shall intervene;
And Nature, still to all her feelings just,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of Disgust.
Antistrophe.
Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts
By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell,
Where the poised lark his evening ditty chants,
And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell.
There Study shall with Solitude recline;
And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains;
And Toil and Temperance sedately twine
The slender cord that fluttering Life sustains:
And fearless Poverty shall guard the door;
And Taste, unspoil'd, the frugal table spread;
And Industry supply the humble store;
And Sleep, unbribed, his dews refreshing shed:
White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite,
Shall chase far off the goblins of the night;
And Independence o'er the day preside,
Propitious power! my patron and my pride.
me scottish funny love poem as published...
" Me likes to think but not much drink, i ne'r even wish or like to sink in water dat tis stagnant en stink, but i wilt be glad always give ya me loving wink...me scottish funny love poem as published...
" Me likes to think but not much drink, i ne'r even wish or like to sink in water dat tis stagnant en stink, but i wilt be glad always give ya me loving wink, or at de fireside share me link, roasted hopefully wit out a burnt wrinkle or kink.,me even be glad put me love ta ya in ink even if need be in pink, i'd even buy ya en coat as close me can to a mink, if but only you'd continue to make me feel as thou without ya me heart would sink en be lost, oh that i cans't not of think, oh cans't ya see me love ya , wouldns't ya think.."
(C) Copyright 10/2/2015 Randall Paul Haffley Ambridge, Pa, U.s.a
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me heart doth ache and sometimes doth shake till me emotions dear for you doth wake, it feels at times i came out of de lake as tho wet bacause no knowledge i did take from others who's emotions are n...me heart doth ache and sometimes doth shake till me emotions dear for you doth wake, it feels at times i came out of de lake as tho wet bacause no knowledge i did take from others who's emotions are not awake, oh dear your love so refreshing i feel it and will of it partake for our hearts sake, and each day we'll make a love and joy so deep tis will cause many a more to awake, so much noone can say a inch of it be weak or fake, but till then me heart doth ache, quiver and shake..
me dear me heart and emotions tis awake..
(C) Copyright 10/6/2015
Randall Paul Jacob Haffley Ambridge, Pa, U.s.a
The Scottish Borders (Our Ancestral Home)
revised edition
William Denholm
Edinburgh, Scotland
2001
I decided to take my children out for the day
And show them where they’re ancestors used to stay
So we got i...The Scottish Borders (Our Ancestral Home)
revised edition
William Denholm
Edinburgh, Scotland
2001
I decided to take my children out for the day
And show them where they’re ancestors used to stay
So we got in the car and drove to the Scottish Borders
First stop Melrose Abbey, the place of holy ancient orders
This magnificent ruin still stands fast
A constant reminder of Scotland’s bloody past
Within its walls lies the Heart of Robert the Bruce
The gallant King who brought freedom's truce
We got back in the car
And passed by the Rymer’s stone
I knew at that point it wouldn’t be long till
We reached Denholm’s ancestral home
We took a wrong turn
And ended up in Ancrum instead
I can’t imagine our most ancient
Would have made this Tory heartland his bed
At that point I didn’t know what to do
When Lindsay said, “Dad, look at the sign post,
It might give us a clue.”
I looked at the signpost and it read
DENHOLM, five miles ahead
We arrived at the village
Where I took photographs of the children
At the DENHOLM village sign
To remind them of their visit in a future time
We then went down to the village green
Where a monument to Sir John Layden can be seen
Lindsay and Lauren played in the park for a while
The one thing that always guaranteed to make them smile
I looked around and not another soul could I see
Well it was Sunday afternoon
Maybe they were having their tea
We got back in the car
And crossed the Dean Burn
And we ended up in Hawick
Somewhere along the line
I had taken another wrong turn
We were passing through Selkirk
When we heard an almighty roar
The 'Rugby Sevens' were on
And someone kicked a conversion to score
By the time we got to Peebles
The Children were starving
And these Children I had to feed
So we stopped the car and bought our Suppers
And ate them by the Banks of the River Tweed
Lauren found another park
Where they both played a little longer
I can only hope after this visit
Their border roots will become stronger,
Love Dad
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Thanks for the likes Iain, Lisa and Randall!
Take warning lads!
The Women Folk
by James Hogg
O Sarley may I rue the day
I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sin syne I ne'er can ha'e
Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind!
They ha'e plagued my heart, an' ...Take warning lads!
The Women Folk
by James Hogg
O Sarley may I rue the day
I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sin syne I ne'er can ha'e
Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind!
They ha'e plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e
An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,
But aye, for a' their witchery,
The pawky things I lo'e them still.
O, the women folk! O, the women folk
But they ha'e been the wreck o'me;
O, weary fa' the women folk,
for they winna let a body be!
I ha'e thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a my skill,
I've lo'ed them better than mysel,
I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,
To comprehend what nae man can;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.
That they ha'e gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;
An gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,
An' waving curls aboon the bree;
An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,
An' e'en sae pawky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the clud-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!
Even but this night, nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,
I tak ye witness, ilka ane,
How fell they fought, and fairly dang,
Their point they've carried, right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,
An' forced a man to sing a sang,
That ne'er could sing a verse ava'.
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