O dinna look sae sair at me,
For weel ye ken me true;
O gin ye look sae sair at me,
I darna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw braw town,
And bonnier lasses see;
O dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest ye should mind na me;

For I could never bide the lass
That ye’d lo’e mair than me;
And O I’m sure my heart would break
Gin ye’d prore fause to me.

John Dunlop (1755-1820)

‘Three stormy nights and stormy days
We toss’d upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Ev’n then, when horror chill’d my blood,
My heart was fill’d with love for thee:
The storm is past, and I at rest,
So Mary weep no more for me.’

She from her pillow gently rais’d
Her head, to ask who there might be
She saw young Sandy shiv’ring stand,
With visage pale and hollow e;
‘O Mary dear, cold is my clay.
It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far, from thee, I sleep in death,
So Mary weep no more for me!’

‘O maiden dear, thyself prepare,
We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more.’
Loud crow’d the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
‘Sweet Mary weep no more for me.’

John Lowe (1750-1798)

Where the sky is ever fair, and the myrtle scents the air,
O! our lovely blossom’s there, in a far countrie.

May the angels watch the flower in a far countrie,
And tent it ev’ry hour in a far countrie.

And the nightingale’s soft song the spicy groves among,
Its slumbers shall prolong in a far countrie.

There’s gold to win and spare in a far countrie,
And gems and jewels rare in a far countrie.

But the brightest, purest gem, from a fondly cherished stem,
Is the flow’ret we could name in a far countrie.

We may not cross the main to a far countrie,
Nor traverse hill and plain to a far countrie.

But when the primrose springs, and the lint white sweetly sings,
O we’ll welcome home our flower from a far countrie.

Robert Gilfillan (1798-1850)

Fee him, Father, fee him, quo’ she,
Fee him, Father, fee him;
For he is a gallant lad,
And a weel doin’,
And a’ the wark about the house
Gaes wi’ me when I see him, quo’ she,
Gaes wi’ me when I see him.

‘What wad I do wi’ him, hussy
What wad I do wi’ him?
He’s ne’er a sark upon his back,
And I ha’e nane to gi’e him.’

I hae twa sarks in my kist neuk,
And ane o’ them I’ll gi’e him,
And for a mark o’ mair fee.
Dinna stand wi’ him, Father,
Dinna stand wi’ him.

For weel do I lo’e him, quo’ she,
Weel do I lo’e him,
O fee him, Father, fee him, quo’ she
Fee him, Father, fee him,
He’ll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn,
An’ crack wi’ me at e’en, quo’ she,
Crack wi’ me at e’en.

I’ve seen the forest adorn’d the foremost,
Wi’ flowers o’ the fairest, baith pleasant and gay:
Sae bonny was their blooming, their scent the air perfuming,
But now they are wither’d and a’wede away.

I’ve seen the morning with gold hills adorning;
And loud tempests roaring before parting day:
I’ve seen Tweed’s silver streams glitt’ring in the sunny beams,
Grow drumlie and dark as they roll’d on their way.

O fickle fortune why this cruel sporting!
Why thus perplex us poor sons of a day!
Thy frown cannot fear me; thy smile cannot cheer me,
Since the flowers o’ the forest are a’wede away.

Alison Cockburn (1712-1794)

The shepherd thus sung: Tho’ young Madie be fair,
Her beauty is dash’d with a scornful proud air;
But Susie is handsome and sweetly can sing,
Her breath’s like the breezes perfum’d in the spring.

That mamma’s fine daughter, with all her great dow’r
Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour;
Then, sighing he wished, would parents agree,
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.

Allan Ramsay (1686-1758)