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No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 274
Now Nature hangs her mantle green,

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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,

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Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns, 155
O cam you here the fight to shun,

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O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 168
O had the malt thy strength of mind,

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O leeze me on my spinning wheel,

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O Luve will venture in where it daur na weel

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O May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet,

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O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 242
O my luve's like a red, red rose,

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Oppress’d with grief, oppress'd with care, 99
O rough, rude, ready-witted R******,

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O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,

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O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above! 118
0 Thou great Being, what thou art,

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O thou pale orb, that silent shines,

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O Thou, the first, the greatest friend !

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O Thou, unknown, almighty cause,

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O thou, whatever title suit thee,

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O Thou, who kindly dost provide,

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O wat ye wha's in yon town,

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O wha is she that loes me?

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O were I on Parnassus' hill,

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O ye wha are sae guid yoursel,

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0

ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 187
Raving winds around her blowing,

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Rever'd defender of beauteous Stuart,

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Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true, 41
Sad thy tale, thou idle page,

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Scenes of woe, and scenes of pleasure,

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Sensibility how charming,

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She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 252
Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, 281
Sir, as your mandate did request,

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Some books are lies frae end to end,

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Stay, my charmer, can you leave me?

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Stop, passenger! my story's brief,

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Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,

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The Catrine woods were yellow seen,

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The day returns, my bosom burns,

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The friend whom wild from wisdom's way, 284
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,

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The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 233
The lovely lass o' Inverness,

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The man, in life, wherever plac'd,

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The poor man weeps, here G***n sleeps, 188
There was once a day, but old Time was then
young,

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There was three kings into the east,

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The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 30
The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 253
The sun had clos'd the winter day,

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The Thames flows proudly to the sea,

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The wind blew hollow frae the hills,

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The wintry west extends his blast,

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They snool me sair, and haud me down, 245
Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling! 226
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,

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This day, Time winds the exhausted chain, 271
Thou of an independent mind,

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'Thou whom chance may hither lead,

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Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 178
***** To Crochallan came,
'Twas in that place o? Scotland's isle,

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Turn again, thou fair Eliza,

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Upon a simmer Sunday morn,

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Upon that night, when fairies light,

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Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,

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Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,

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What can a young lassie, what shall a young
lassie,

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When biting Boreas, fell and doure,

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When chapman billies leave the street, 179
When chill November's surly blast,

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When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 293
When Guildford good our pilot stood,

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Where, braving angry winter's storms,

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Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,

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While briers and woodbines budding green,

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While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 137
While virgin spring, by Eden's flood,

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While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw, 92
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,

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Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 112
Why, ye tenants of the lake,

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Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed,

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Wilt thou be my dearie?

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With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,

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Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

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Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires,

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POEMS,

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.

THE TWA DOGS.

A TALE.

'TWAS in that place of Scotland's isle, That bears the name of Auld King Coil, Upon a bonnie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, Was keepit for his honour's pleasure : His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; But whalpit some place far abroad, Where sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar,
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar:
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin.
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend an comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath card him,
Vol. III.

A

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