Gif A Lassie Spurn A Laddie.

Gif a lassie spurn a laddie
Wi' her needless Nays,
Thraves will pet the hapless plaidie
Wi' their loving ways;
So if Kirsty blaw him cauldly
As a winter day,
Bess and Belle will bless him bauldly
Wi' the breath of May.

Prudery still affects the valley,
Shady and alane,
Meeting souls that loveward sally,
Icy as a stane.
On the mountain true Love singeth,
Liberty is there;
Dalliance wingeth, Pleasure springeth,
From her waving hair.

On the peaks abide the pleasures,
Young and sweet and free,
Yoked with Youth's immortal treasures,
Love and Liberty;
So, the hilltops seek while soaring,
Eaglet of Love's sky;
Light adorned and Light adoring,
Bask, and burn and die.

A. H. Laidlaw

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A. H. Laidlaw

Black Eyes.

A. H. Laidlaw, Simple Poetry

Sword Of Jehovah.

A. H. Laidlaw, Simple Poetry

Burke Of The Brave Brigade.

A. H. Laidlaw, Simple Poetry

Sherry In The Saddle.

A. H. Laidlaw, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains.

Tune - "Yon wild mossy mountains."


I.

    Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
    That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
    Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
    And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.
        Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
        And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.

II.

    Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores,
    To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors;
    For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
    Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
        For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
        Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Robert Burns

This Is No My Ain Lassie.

Tune - "This is no my ain house."



I.

            O this is no my ain lassie,
                Fair tho' the lassie be;
            O weel ken I my ain lassie,
                Kind love is in her e'e.
    I see a form, I see a face,
    Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:
    It wants, to me, the witching grace,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

II.

    She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
    And lang has had my heart in thrall;
    And ay it charms my very saul,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

III.

    A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
    To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
    But gleg as light are lovers' een,
        When kind love is in the e'e.

IV.

...

Robert Burns

Lassie Wi' The Lint-White Locks.

Tune - "Rothemurche's Rant."


I.

        Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
            Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
        Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
            Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
    Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
    And a' is young and sweet like thee;
    O wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
        And say thoul't be my dearie, O?

II.

    And when the welcome simmer shower
    Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
    We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
        At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

III.

    When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
    The weary shearer's hameward way;
    Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
        And talk o' love my dearie, O.

IV.

Robert Burns

Stir thi Lass!

Come lassie be stirrin, for th' lark's up ith' lift,
An th' dew drops are hastin away;
An th' mist oth' hillside is beginnin to shift,
An th' flaars have all wakkened for th' day.
Tha promised to meet me beside this thorn tree,
An darlin, thi sweet face awm langing to see;
When tha arn't here ther's noa beauty for me;
Soa stir thi lass, stir thi,
Or else awst come for thi,
For tha knows what tha tell'd me last neet tha wod be.

Come lassie be stirrin, awm here all alooan;
Tha'rt sewerly net slumb'rin still;
Th' lark's finished his tune an th' dewdrops have gooan,
An th' mist's rolled away ovver th' hill.
Net a wink have aw slept sin aw left thee last neet,
Lukkin forrad to th' time when tha sed we should meet;
But it's past, an mi sweetheart is still aght...

John Hartley

Gaein And Comin

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed
    The lift was lowerin dreary,
The sun he wadna raise his heid,
    The win' blew laich and eerie.
In's pooch he had a plack or twa--
    I vow he hadna mony,
Yet Andrew like a linty sang,
    For Lizzie was sae bonny!
        O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie!
        Bonny, saucy hizzy!
        What richt had ye to luik at me
        And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam
    The sun was shinin rarely;
He rade a horse that pranced and sprang--
    I vow he sat him fairly!
And he had gowd to spen' and spare,
    And a hert as true as ony;
But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair,
    For Lizzie was sae bonny!
        O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy!
        Aih, the sunlicht we...

George MacDonald