Thus, in my arms, wi’ a’ her charms,
     I clasp my countless treasure;
     I’ll seek nae main o’ Heav’n to share,
     Tha sic a moment’s pleasure: 
     And by thy e’en sae bonie blue,
     I swear I’m thine for ever! 
     And on thy lips I seal my vow,
     And break it shall I never.

Dainty Davie

     Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowers,
     To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers;
     And now comes in the happy hours,
     To wander wi’ my Davie.

     Chorus.—­Meet me on the warlock knowe,
     Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
     There I’ll spend the day wi’ you,
     My ain dear Dainty Davie.

     The crystal waters round us fa’,
     The merry birds are lovers a’,
     The scented breezes round us blaw,
     A wandering wi’ my Davie. 
     Meet me on, &c.

     As purple morning starts the hare,
     To steal upon her early fare,
     Then thro’ the dews I will repair,
     To meet my faithfu’ Davie. 
     Meet me on, &c.

     When day, expiring in the west,
     The curtain draws o’ Nature’s rest,
     I flee to his arms I loe’ the best,
     And that’s my ain dear Davie. 
     Meet me on, &c.

Robert Bruce’s March To Bannockburn

     Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
     Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
     Welcome to your gory bed,
     Or to Victorie!

     Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
     See the front o’ battle lour;
     See approach proud Edward’s power—­
     Chains and Slaverie!

     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,
     Free-man stand, or Free-man fa’,
     Let him on wi’ 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!

Behold The Hour, The Boat Arrive

     Behold the hour, the boat arrive;
     Thou goest, the darling of my heart;
     Sever’d from thee, can I survive,
     But Fate has will’d and we must part. 
     I’ll often greet the surging swell,
     Yon distant Isle will often hail: 
     “E’en here I took the last farewell;
     There, latest mark’d her vanish’d sail.” 
     Along the solitary shore,
     While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
     Across the rolling, dashing roar,
     I’ll westward turn my wistful eye: 
     “Happy thou Indian grove,” I’ll say,
     “Where now my Nancy’s path may be! 
     While thro’ thy sweets she loves to stray,
     O tell me, does she muse on me!”