All Poems

/ page 2635 of 3210 /

Order by :

The Rover's Adieu

© Sir Walter Scott

weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.

The Outlaw

© Sir Walter Scott

'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green!
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English Queen.'

The Maid of Neidpath

© Sir Walter Scott

O lovers eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers ears in hearing;
And love, in lifes extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.

Rosabelle

© Sir Walter Scott

O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

Pibroch of Donail Dhu

© Sir Walter Scott

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan-Conuil.

Patriotism 1. Innominatus

© Sir Walter Scott

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
'This is my own, my native land!'
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd

Patriotism 02 Nelson, Pitt, Fox

© Sir Walter Scott

TO mute and to material things
New life revolving summer brings;
The genial call dead Nature hears,
And in her glory reappears.

Patriotism 01 Innominatus

© Sir Walter Scott

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
'This is my own, my native land!'
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd

On Leaving Mrs. Brown's Lodgings

© Sir Walter Scott

So goodbye, Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,

My Native Land

© Sir Walter Scott

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,

hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

MacGregor's Gathering

© Sir Walter Scott

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Lucy Ashton's Song

© Sir Walter Scott

Look not thou on beauty's charming;
Sit thou still when kings are arming;
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens;
Speak not when the people listens;

Lochinvar

© Sir Walter Scott

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

Jock of Hazeldean

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:

It Was an English Ladye Bright

It was an English ladye bright,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)
And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.

Hunter's Song

The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.

Heres a Health to King Charles

Bring the bowl which you boast,
Fill it up to the brim;
Tis to him we love most,
And to all who love him.

Harp of the North, Farewell!

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.

Eleu Loro

Where shall the lover rest
Whom the fates sever
From his true maidens breast
Parted for ever?