Robert Burns

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever.

But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar,
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar,
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.