Highland Mary-Robert Burns 1759-1756, Poem

              Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

                   The castle o' Montgomery,

             Green be your woods and fair your flowers,

                    Your waters never drumlie!

              There simmer first unfauld her robes,

                   And there the langest tarry;

           For there I took the last fareweel,

                   O' my sweet Highland Mary.

              How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

                  How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

            As underneath their fragrant shade

                  I clasp'd her to my bosom!

           The golden hours, on angel wings,

                  Flew o'er me and my dearie;

            For dear to me as light and life,

                  Was my sweet Highland Mary.

            Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace

                  Our parting was fu' tender;

            And, pledging aft to meet again,

                  We tore oursels asunder;

            But O! fell death's untimely frost,

                  That nipt my flower sae early!

            Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

               That wraps my Highland Mary!

            O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

                  I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

            And closed for aye the sparkling glance,

                 That dwelt on me sae kindly!

          And mould'ring now in silent dust,

                  That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

            But still within my bosom's core

                  Shall live my Highland Mary.

Scots Wha Hae

             Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,

             Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;

              Welcome to your gory bed,

                   Or to victory!

              Now's the day, and now's the hour;

             See the front o' battle lour;

            See approach proud Edward's power--

                   Chains and slavery!

             Wha will be a traitor knave?

          Wha can fill a coward's grave!

            Wha sae base as be a slave?

                  Let him turn and flee!

            Wha for Scotland's king and law

            Freedom's sword will strongly draw,

            Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

                  Let him follow me!

            By oppression's woes and pains!

            By your sons in servile chains!

            We will drain our dearest veins,

                  But they shall be free!

            Lay the proud usurpers low!

           Tyrants fall in every foe!

            Liberty's in every blow!--

                 Let us do or die!