Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte
Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin', Willie!
Hark! the mavis' evening sang
Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil?
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crawlin ferlie!
Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief!
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots
He clenched his pamphlets in his fist
Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald
Heard ye o' the tree o' France
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing
Here around the ingle bleezing
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct
Here cursing swearing Burton lies
Here's Holy Willie's sair-worn clay
It was a' for our rightfu' King
It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did
me enthral
It was the charming month of May
It was upon a Lammas night
Here is the glen, and here the bower
Here lie Willie Michie's banes
Here lies now a prey to insulting neglect
Here souter Hood in Death does sleep
Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd
Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal
Lass, when your mither is frae home
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang
Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg.
Let not woman e'er complain
Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
Honest Will's to heaven is gane
Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore 1 feel
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks
Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours
Loud blaw the frosty breezes
Louis, what reck I by thee