Freedom For Scotland | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Scotland's Ma Hame | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
More Poetry | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'! Ad wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa'! It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause And bide by the buff and the blue. Here's a' health to them that's awa', Here's a' health to them that's awa'! Here's a' health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, Altho' that his band be sma'! May Liberty meet wi' success, May Prudence protect her frae evil! May Tyrants and Tyranny tine I' the mist And wander their way to the Devil! Here's a' health to them that's awa', Here's a' health to them that's awa'! Here's a' health to Tammie, the Norlan' laddie, That lives at the lug o' the Law! Here's freedom to them that wad read, Here's freedom to them that would write! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard But they whom the truth would indite! Here's a' health to them that's awa', And here's to them that's awa'! Here's to Maitland and Wycombe! Let wha' does na like 'em Be built in a hole in the wa'! Here's timmer that's red at the heart, Here's fruit that is sound at the core, And may be that wad turn the buff and blue coat Be turn'd to the back o' the door! Here's a' health to them that's aw'a, Here's a' health to them that's awa'! Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw! Here's friends on baith sides o' the Firth, And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, And wha' wad betray old Albion's right, May they never eat of her bread! By Robert Burns |
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Address to the Unco Guid. My Son, these maxims make a rule, An lump them aye thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither; The cleanest corn that e'er was dight May hae some pyles 'o caff in; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits 'o daffin. 'O ye, wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebours' fauts and folly! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi store o water; The heapet happer's ebbing still, An still the clap plays clatter! Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door For glaikit Folly's portals: I for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences - Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. Ye see your state wi' their's compared, And shudder at the niffer; But cast a moment's fair regard, What makes the mighty differ? Discount what scant occasion gave; That purity ye pride in; And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Your better art 'o hidin. Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop! Wi' wind and tide fair I your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o baith to sail, It makes an unco lee-way. See Social Life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown Debauchery and Drinking: 'O, would they stay to calculate Th' eternal consequences, Or your more dreaded hell to state Damnation of expenses! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gie poor Frailty names, Suppose a change 'o cases: A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treach'rous inclination - But, let me whisper in your lug, Ye're aiblins nae temptation. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Tho they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us: He knows each chord, its various tone, Each spring, its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. By Robert Burns |
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Paper Kate Wha but kens o' Paper Kate? Trudgin', pechin' air and late, Sair forfouchen, never bate, Reglar as the post was Kate. Winter storms micht rage and blaw, Roads be deep in driftit snaw, Bus micht coup and train micht wait, But nocht could taigle Paper Kate. Up the mile-lang village street Cam' the trot o' Katie's feet; Roun' the farms and villas nate Nae dog barked at Paper Kate. A' the weanies in the place Kent her wee roun' wrunklet face; Rinnin' scuddy to the gate, Aft they welcomed Paper Kate. Kate had crack for auld and young Wha was deid and wha was hung, And a' the great affairs o' state, Nane could reel them aff like Kate. Katie's shawl - 'twas ocht but warm That shielded aye her ware frae harm, Lang had lost its young conceit When first it met wi' Paper Kate. Katie's shoon - in winter worn - Aff were flung at May's return: "Shoon an' siller's ill to get Hackit heels are cheap!" quo' Kate. Blithe when weary banes were sair, Cheery aye, though auld and puir; Nane that ever foucht wi' Fate Kept a spunkier heart than Kate. But ae winter mornin' snell Puir auld Katie slip't and fell: Hame was carried, cauld and quate - Syne we heard nae mair o' Kate. Where she lies there's few that care - Whiles a daisy waukens there; But for stane, or name, or date, Wha wad fash for Paper Kate? Walter Wingate |
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This is my country, The land that begat me, These windy spaces Are surely my own. and those who toil here In the sweat of their faces Are flesh of my flesh And bone of my bone. SIR ALEXANDER GRAY 'Scotland |
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Declaration of Arbroath For so long as one hundred men remain alive, we shall never under any conditions submit to the domination of the English. It is not for glory or riches or honours that we fight, but only for liberty, which no good man will consent to lose but with his life. |
The Maker Nae man wha loves the lowland tongue But wartles wi' the thocht There are mair sangs that bide unsung Nor a' that hae been wrocht. Ablow the wastrey o' the years The thorter o' himsel Deep buried in his bluid he hear's A music that is leal. William Soutar |
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