Robert Tannahill

“ When the rude wintry win'
⁠Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn
⁠On the night breeze is swelling,
So merrily we'll sing,
⁠As the storm rattles o'er us,
'Till the dear sheeling ring
⁠Wi' the light lilting chorus. ”

“ Ah! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shouldst return,
⁠Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn,
And memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree,
⁠Ere my heart spare ae thought on anither but thee. Tannahill. ”

“ Feathery breckans fringe the rocks,
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks,
⁠And ilka thing is cheery O;
Trees may bud, and birds may sing,
Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring,
Joy to me they canna' bring,
⁠Unless wi' thee, my dearie O. Tannahill. ”