OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Gloomy winter's now awa' (1813-1820)/Gloomy Winter's Now Awa'

Gloomy Winter's Now Awa'.
Gloomy winter's now awa, Saft the westlin breezes blaw, 'Mang the birks of Stan ey shaw
The mavis sings fu cheery O;
Sweet the crawflower's early bell Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell, Blooming like thy bonnie sel, My young, my artless dearie O.
Come, my lassie, let us stray O'er Glenkilloch's, sunny brae, Blythely spend the gouden day, 'Midst joys that never weary O.
Towering o'er the Newton woods, Lav'rocks fan the sna-white clouds, Siller saughs wi downy buds, Adorn the banks sae briery O;
Round the sylvan fairy nooks, Feathery brackens fringe the rocks, 'Neath the brae the burnie jouks, And ilka thing is cheary 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 0.
# Six Beautiful Songs/Gloomy Winter's Now Awa'

Gloomy Winter's now awa'.
# Fool

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Fool."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "The Fool", a poem by Robert W. Service
* The Fool, a novel by H. C. Bailey

## See also

* A Fool There Was
# A Fool There Was (Browne)
## Novel

* A Fool There Was (1909), published by Grosset & Dunlap (external scan)
* A Fool There Was (1909), published by the H. K. Fly Company (external scan)

## Adaptations
### Theater

* A Fool There Was (1909) (scan needed)

### Film

* A Fool There Was (1915), a drama starring Theda Bara, directed by Frank Powell
# The Book of Scottish Song/Gloomy winter's come again

Gloomy winter's come again.
[James Aitchison, printer, Edinburgh.—Tune, "Gloomy winter's now awa'."]
Gloomy winter's come again; Heavy fa's the sleet and rain; Flaky snaw decks white the plain, Whare nature bloom'd sae cheerie, O. ​Hoary frost o'erspreads the dell, Giazing firm each crystal rill; They mind me o' thy fickle sel', My fair yet faithless Mary, O. I lanely tread each trackless way, Whare wi' thee, Mary, I did stray, My heart's oppress'd wi' grief and wae, Thou'rt false, and a' looks drearie, O.
The snaw-clad hills o'ertap the cluds, The hares rin tim'rous through the wuds, The trees, forsaken by their buds, Are emblems o' my Mary, O.
A' around deserted looks, Tangles fringe the barren rocks.
While bairnies by the ingle nooks, Tell tales that mak' them eerie, O. Storms may rage, and tempests roar, Restless billows beat the shore, Joy on earth I'll find no more. Unless I'm blest wi' Mary, O.
# A Fool There Was

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "A Fool There Was."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* A Fool There Was (1909), a novel by Porter Emerson Browne, adapted into various media forms
* A Fool There Was (1914), a comedy featuring Oliver Hardy which may survive, and appears to be unrelated to the Browne story
* "A Fool There Was" (1914), a song by De Los Becker (external scan)

## See also

* "The Vampire" (1897, "A fool there was and he made his prayer"), the original poem by Rudyard Kipling which this title references
* Fool
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland/King George IVth's welcome to Scotland

KING GEORGE IVth's
WELCOME TO SCOTLAND.
LANG time we've waited for our King, That we might caper, rant and fling, And lightly dance, and gladly sing, You're welcome Royal Geordie.
chorus.
But oh! you are lang a-coming, Lang, lang, lang a-coming: O dinna be sae lang a-coming, Come awa, King Geordie.
Than Glasgow town there is not one, In a' your great and glorious lan', Who'll turn out a truer ban', To guard their Royal Geordie. And by the powers aboon we swear, If any traitor come you near, The fause loon we'll in pieces tear, A' for our love to Geordie.
For weel we ken your title's gude, And shall maintain it with our blude, If any foreign foeman should Dispute the right o' Geordie. Then hasre ye, Geordie, come awa, We'll dress our wives and weans fu' braw, They'll rend the lift wi' glad huzza,
To welcome their ain Geordie. In Edinbro' too time will pass sweet, ⟨Frae⟩ far and near they'll Geordie greet, ​And you shall get braw lodgings, meet To house you, Royal Geordie. Your Court you'll haud in Holyrood, Where aft your ancestors have stood, All anxious for the public good, As now is Royal Geordie.
The Castle's ancient wa' you'll view, The auld Scotch Crown and Sceptre too, To wear them nane has right but yon, So come awa King Geordie. And at Dalkeith with Duke Buccleugh, Your people a' will round you bow, Wi' hearty love, and fealty true, To you their ain kind Geordie.
In Perthshire ye'll get Athol-Brose, And muir-fowl frae tae great Montrose; Wi' us, my lad, ye'll be jocose, So haste you here King Geordie. And, by my troth, there's not a belle, Ev'n 'mangst the rare oncs of Pall Mall, To match the Ladies at Dunkeld, Then hie you north King Georgie.
And we shall dance a Highland Reel, 'Twill please you weel my Royal Chiel, On Scotia's heath to shake your heel, Wi' some braw lass, King Geordie. Then haste, my cock, and come awa, We'll welcome you wi' loud huzza! And auld and young shall crousely craw, Long live our ain King Geordie.
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland/Gloomy winter's now awa'

GLOOMY WINTER's NOW AWA’.
Gloomy Winter's now awa', Saft the weſtlin breezes blaw, ’Mang the birks o' Stanlyſhaw The mavis ſings ſae cheery O: Sweet the crawflow'r's early bell Decks Gleniffer's dewy bell, Blooming like thy bonnie ſel', My young, my artleſs dearie O.
Come, my laſſie, let us ſtray O’er Glenkilloch's funny brae, Blythly ſpend the gouden day ’Midſt joys that never weary O. Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods, Lavrocks fan the ſnaw-white clouds, Siller ſaughs wi' downy buds, Adorn the banks ſae briery O.
Round the Sylvan fairy nooks, Feath’ry, breckans fringe the rocks, ’Neath the brae the burnie jouks, An’ ilka thing is cheery O. Trees may bud, and birds may ſing, Flow'rs may bloom, and verdure ſpring, Joy to me they canna bring, Unleſs wi' thee my deary O.
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland/Gloomy winter's come again

GLOOMY WINTER’s COME AGAIN.
Gloomy Winter’s come again, Heavy fa’s the sleet and rain; Flecky snaw decks white the plain, And ilka thing looks dreary, O! Hoary frost o’erspreads each dale, Glazing firm each chrystal rill, It minds me o’ thy fickle sel’, My fair, but faithless Mary, O.
Lanely I tread each tractless way, Where with thee, Mary, I did stray, My heart oppress’d with grief and wae, Thou’rt false, and a’ looks weary, O. The high clad hills o’ertap the clouds, The hare flees tim’rous the woods, The trees forsaken by their buds, Emblems of me and Mary, O!
A’ around deserted looks! Tangles fringe the barren rocks, And children by the ingle-neuks Tell tales that make them earie, O. Storms may rage, and tempests roar, Restless billows beat the shore, Joy on earth I’ll ne’er ha’e more, But live and mourn my Mary, O.
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland/The emigrants' farewel to Ayrshire

THE
EMIGRANT's FAREWEL
TO AYRSHIRE.
Farewell to Ayrſhire's gilded ſtreams, Whar a' the ſweets of Nature beams, Farewel unto my bonny Jean. For now maun billows roar between; Farewel thoſe friends I lov'd ſo dear. Oft did your mirth my boſum cheer, Farewel to a', ance' a' my care, Farewel ye bonny banks of Ayr.
But now the hour is drawing nigh, The tear ſtands twinkling in my eye; The ſhip lies hovering in the bay, To ſpread her ſails. and bear away. O wretched hour muſt then I go. And leave my Jean my friends in woe, Leave all ſo dear, in black deſpair, And bid adieu to banks of Ayr.
Had Commerce flouriſh’d on thy plains, With Freedom link'd in peaceful chains, I ne'er would leave thy ſhades ava, An exile to America. ​But, waes me a' is fled and gane, And left grim miſery alane! No ſhining hope, but falſe a’ air, Hangs low’ring o'er the banks of Ayr.
My grief forbids, my waes renew, I ſcarcely now can bid adieu! For hazy is the dewy morn, Poor victim from thy boſom torn; The ſpirit of a Scotia's ſon, No more on love does boldly run, But ſinks and dies to riſe nae mair, To ſmile upon the banks of Ayr.
Yer while I tread the diſtant ſhore, Upon the beach where billows roar, I'll think upon the ancient name, Ance kindly. ne’er to meet again! It's where my Jean does lonely dwell, My boſom ſhall in rapture swell, And love her beſt in ſpite of care, My Jean upon the banks of Ayr.
So now adieu. for we muſt part, Yet, tho' I go, I leave my heart, Hoping all your waes will ceaſe, And Commerce flouriſh in ſweet peace. Farewel my friends my Jean. and thee! My love ſhall ever conſtant be. Farewel again, my heart is fair, A long adieu, ye banks of Ayr.
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland/The sailor's life

THE SAILOR's LIFE.
How pleaſant a Sailor's life paſſes, who rolls o'er the wat'ry main! No treaſure he ever amaſſes, but chearfully ſpends all his gain. We're ſtrangers to party and faction, to honour and honeſty true, And would not commit a baſe action, for power or profit in view.
chorus.
Then why ſhould we quarrel for riches, or any ſuch glitt’ring toys? A light heart and thin pair of breeches goes through the world brave boys.
The world is a beautiful garden, enrich'd with the bleſſings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding; which plenty too often breeds ſtrife. When terrible tempeſts aſſail us, and mountanious billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail us, but ſkilful induſtry ſteers right.
Then why ſhould, &c.
FINIS.
# Six Beautiful Songs/Gloomy Winter's Come Again

Gloomy Winter's come again.
# King George IV. his welcome to Scotland

King George IV.
HIS
Welcome to Scotland.
to which are added,
Gloomy Winter's now awa'.
Gloomy Winter's come again.
The Emigrants' Farewel to Ayrshire.
The Sailor's Life.
Falkirk, Printed in the Year 1822.
* King George IVth's welcome to Scotland
* Gloomy winter's now awa'
* Gloomy winter's come again
* The emigrants' farewel to Ayrshire
* The sailor's life
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Land of the Leal

Previously attributed to Robert Burns. Sung to the tune of Hae Tutti Tatti, which many is also the tune to Scots Wha Hae.
* "The land o' the leal", in Seven love songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Kincardine
* "The Land O' The Leal", in Six popular Scotch songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Kirkudbright
* "The Land o' the Leal", in Young Donald o' Dundee (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Land o' the Leal", in For a' that and a' that (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "The land of the leal", in Seven excellent songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Newton-Stewart
* "The Land o' the Leal", in Six Beautiful Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Peterhead
* "The Land o' the Leal", in The Canary (1810), a chapbook printed in Paisley
* "The Land of the Leal", in John Anderson my Jo (1828), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Land o' the Leal", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# Six Beautiful Songs/The Land o' the Leal

The Land o' the Leal.
# Six Beautiful Songs/For Lack of Gold

FOR LACK OF GOLD.
# Six Beautiful Songs

There are differences between the titles given on the front page and those at the head of each song; where this is the case, the latter have been used.
SIX BEAUTIFUL SONGS.
Gloomy Winters now awa,
Gloomy Winters come again
The land o' the leal,
For lack of Gold,
Loudens bonny woods and braes,
The Lass o' Peaties Mill.
Peterhead. Printed by P. Buchan.
* Gloomy Winter's Now Awa'
* Gloomy Winter's Come Again
* The Land o' the Leal
* For Lack of Gold
* Earl Moira's Farewell
* The Lass o' Peaties Mill
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Down the burn Davie

Down the Burn Davie.
The Meeting of the Waters.
Andro wi’ his cutty gun.
THE SOLDIER’S DREAM.
For lake of Gold.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS,
1823.
* Down the burn Davie
* The Meeting of the Waters
* Andro wi' his cutty gun
* The Soldier's Dream
* For Lake of Gold
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Down the burn Davie/Down the burn Davie

DOWN THE BURN DAVIE.
When trees did bud and fields were green, And broom bloom'd bur to see;
When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laugh'd in here ee;
Blythe Davy's blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free,
Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I will follow thee.
Now Davie did each lad surpass That dwelt on this burn side;
And Mary was the bonniest lass, Just meet to be a bride. Blythe Davie's blinks, &c.
Her cheeks were rosy red and white, Her een were bonny blue,
Her looks were like Aurora bright, Her lips like dropping dew. Blythe Davie's biinks, &c.
What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play, And nothing, sure, unmeet! ​For ganging hame, I heard them say, They lik'd a walk so sweet. Blythe Davie's blinks, &c.
His cheeks to her's he fondly laid; She cried, Sweet love be true; And when a wife, as now a maid, To death I'll follow you. Blythe Davie's blinks, &c.
As fate had dealt to him a routh, Straight to the kirk he led her; There plighted her his faith and truth, And a bonny bride he made her. Nonnore asbam'd to own her love, Or speak her mind thus free; Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I will follow thee.
# Down the burn Davie/Andro wi' his cutty gun

ANDRO WI' HIS CUTTY GUN.
Blyth, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she but and ben;
O weel she lo'ed a Hawick gill, And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, and set me down, And heclit to keep me lawin free;
But cunning carlin that she was, She gar'd me birl my bawbee. Blyth, blyth, &c.
We lo'ed the liquor weel enough, But waes my heart my cash was done,
Before that I had quench'd my drouth, And laith I was to pawn my shoon.
When we had three times toom'd our stoup, And the neist chappin new begun,
In started, to heeze up our hope, Young Andro wi' his cutty gun. Blyth, blyth, &c.
​The carlin brought her kebbuck ben, With girdle cakes weel toasted brown
Weel does the canny kimmer ken They gar the scuds, gae glibber down.
We ca'd the bicker aft about, Till dawning we ne'er jeed our bum,
And ay the clearest drinker out, Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. Blyth, blyth,&c.
He did like ony mavis sing, And as I in his oxter sat,
He ca'd me ay his bonny thing, And mony a sappy kiss I gat.
I hae been east, I hae been west, I hae been far ayout the sun;
But the blythest lad that e'er I saw, Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. Blyth, blyth, &c.
# Down the burn Davie/The soldier's dream

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sung truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel-stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
​When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the ⟨dead⟩ of the night a sweet vision I saw, And ⟨twice⟩, ere the cock crew, I dreamt it again.
Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far far I had roam'd on a desolate tract,
Till nature and sunshine disclos'd the sweet way, To the house of my father, who welcom'd me back.
I flew to the pleasant field, travers'd so oft In life's morning watch, when my bosom was young:
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledg'd we the wine-cup,—and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in ⟨the fullness⟩ of heart—
Stay, stay with us, rest-thou art weary and worn! And fain was the war-broken soldier to stay;
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
# Down the burn Davie/For lake of gold

FOR LAKE OF GOLD.
For lake of gold she's left me, O, And of all that's dear bereft me, O, She me forsook, for a great duke, And to endless woe she's left me, O. A star and garter has more art, Than youth, a true and faithfu' heart, For empty titles we must part, And for glitt'ring show she's left me O
No cruel fair shall ever move My injur'd heart again to love; Through distant ⟨climates⟩ I must rove, Since Jeanie she has left me O. Ye pow'rs above, I to your care Give up my charming lovely fair; Your choicest blessings be her share, Tho' she's for ever left me O.
FINIS.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Loudon's bonnie woods

Loudon's bonnie woods.
[Written by Robert Tannhill, and set to music by R. A. Smith. Loudon castle, in Ayrshire, with its luxuriant woods, is the locality here celebrated, and the song was composed early in the present century, in 1805 or somewhat later, when the earl of Moira, afterwards marquis of Hastings, was commander-in-chief of the forces in Scotland, and universal preparations were making for active service abroad. His lordship was married in 1804 to Flora Muir Campbell, in her own right. Countess of Loudon—and the song is supposed to depict the parting of the soldier and his young bride. Nothing could exceed its popularity during many years of the war, and it is still a favourite. In 1816, while Governor-General of India, the earl of Moira was created marquis of Hastings: he returned to England in 1823 or 23, and visited Loudon castle, but died at Malta in 1824, of which place had been appointed governor. The late unfortunate Flora Hastings was I daughter of this nobleman.]
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, I maun leave them a', lassie; Wha, can thole when Britain's faes Would gi'e to Britons law, lassie? ​Wha would shun the field o' danger? Wha to fame would live a stranger? Now when Freedom bids avenge her, Wha would shun her ca', lassie? Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, Ha'e seen our happy bridal days, And gentle hope shall soothe thy waes, When I am far awa', lassie.
Hark! the swelling bugle rings, Yielding joy to thee, laddie; But the dolefu' bugle brings Wacfu' thochts to me, laddie. Lanely I may climb the mountain, Lanely stray beside the fountain, Still the weary moments counting, Far frae love and thee, laddie. Ower ths gory fields o' war, Where Vengeance drives his crimson car, Thou'lt maybe fa', frae me afar, And nane to close thy e'e, laddie.
Oh, resume thy wonted smile, Oh, suppress thy fears, lassie; Glorious honour crowns the toil That the soldier shares, lassie: Heaven will shield thy faithful lover, Till the vengeful strife is over; Then we'll meet, nae mair to sever, Till the day we dee, lassie: Midst our bonnie woods and braes, We'll spend our peaceful happy days, As blythe's yon lichtsome lamb that plays On Loudon's flowery lea, lassie.
# Six Beautiful Songs/Earl Moira's Farewell

Earl Moira's Farewell.
—o—o—
# Six Beautiful Songs/The Lass o' Peaties Mill

The Lass o' Peaties Mill.
FINIS.
# The Soldier's Return (2)/Loudon's Bonny Woods and Braes

LOUDON'S BUNNY WOODS AND BRAES.
# Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel

The Lass
WI' THE
Twa-handed Wheel.
To which is added,
Bonaparte’s
Gone to St. Helena.
The Rambling Boy.
AND
Up in the Morning early.
Falkirk—T. Johnston, Printer.
1817.
* Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel
* Bonaparte's Gone to St Helena
* The Rambling Boy
* Up in the Morning Early
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel/Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel

THE
LASS Wi’the TWA-HANDED WHEEL.
In my youth I became a great tramper, till love set my head in a creel; Thro’ city and town I did scamper, O’er ilk hill, muir, mountain, and dale. ’Twas then I gae’d to the mishanter, when forc'd frae the arms o’ sweet Nell; Fate said I would never supplant her, the Lass wi’ the twa-handed Wheel.
Leander in love was ne’er blinder, like him I ran straught on extremes; I tried ev'ry-where for to find her, from bonny sweet Tay to the Thames: Then I ran to the sea helter-skelter, and rang’d o’er tho banks o’ the Nile, I fought thro renown’d Gibraltar, for the Lass wi’ the twa handed Wheel.
I went to the gude town of Cadiz, to see if her there I could find, But nane o braw Spanish ladies could in the least alter my mind. ​Spain, Portugal I did abandon, and seas mountains high I did speel, Thro’ England I travelled d to London, for the Lass wi’ the twa-handed Wheel.
But beauty it soon turns tasteless, and luxury likewise grows stale, For Cupid had render’d me restless, ‘till arriv'd in the land of Oatmeal; There I met wi’ the pride o' Dunnotter, for whom I had long stood at drill, Saw blyth in Auld Reekie I got her, the Lass wi’ the twa-handed Wheel.
O fools may gae hunt after riches, they're nought but a trifling garb, Tho‘ my bonny Lass is nae Dutchess, yet ilk year she spins me a web: For beauty and virtue’s her portion,
now and than there’s a lass or a chiel; I ne‘er will repent my exertions for the Lass wi‘ the twa-handed Wheel.
And now I have baith peace and pleasure, my mind it is settled and still, My Nell’s my delight and my treasure, and love her for ever I will. Tho’ now I’ve been seven years married, new joys ev’ry day I do feel! I’ll ay bless the time I preferred the Lass wi’ the twa-handed Wheel.
​She’s nae senseless vain idle taupie, gaen clashin’ about here and there, She studies to make me ay happy, and snod-like at Kirk and at Fair; ‘Mang neighbours she raises nae ferment, house-secrets does never reveal. But sits in the house wi’ contentment, and tugs at the twa-handed Wheel.
# Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel/Bonaparte's Gone to St Helena

Bonaparte's gone to St. HELENA.
Now Bonney is awa’, From his warring and fightin’ He is gone to the place That he ne’er can delight in; He may sit now and tell Of the scenes he hath seen a’, While forlorn he doth mourn On the Isle St. Helena.
No more at St. Clouds He’ll appear in great splendour, Nor go forth with his crouds, Like the Great Alexander; ​He may sigh to the winds, By the great mount Diana, With his eyes o’er the waves That surrounds St. Helena.
Now Lousiana weeps For her husband departed; She dreams while she sleeps, And she wakes broken-hearted: Not a friend to condole, Even those that might, they winna; Now she mourns while she thinks On the Isle St. Helena.
The rude rushing waves A’ our shores round are washing, And the great billows heaves A’ the wild rocks a-dashing; He may look upon the mon, And think on Lousiana, With his heart full of woe, On the Isle St. Helena.
Now you that have great wealth, Be aware of ambition; For some decree of fate Soon may change your condition; ​Be ye stedfast in time, For what’s to come ye kenna; May be, your race may end At the Isle St. Helena.