Such Is The Fate Of Simple Bard,

[scottish Songs] Are, I Own, Frequently Wild, & Unreduceable To The More Modern Rules; But On That Very Eccentricity, Perhaps, Depends A Great Part Of Their Effect.

O, My Luve Is Like A Red, Red Rose.

Oh My Luve's Like A Red, Red Rose, That's Newly Sprung In June; Oh My Luve's Like The Melodie That's Sweetly Played In Tune.

The Fear O' Hell's A Hangman's Whip To Haud The Wretch In Order; But Where Ye Feel Your Honour Grip, Let That Aye Be Your Border.

Chords That Vibrate Sweetest Pleasure Thrill The Deepest Notes Of Woe.