When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary, O! Down by the burn, where scented birks[1]...
My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strode he on the plain: But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again, O for him back again!...
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow-weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, With grateful lifted eyes, Who said that not the soul alone But body too, must rise: For had he said, "the soul alone From death I will deliver;"...
An honest man here lies at rest As e'er God with his image blest! The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth; Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,...