OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Farmer/Young Allan

YOUNG ALLAN.
The sun in the west fads to rest in the e'vning, Ilk morn blinks chearfu' upon the green lea: But ah! on pillow of sorrow aye leaning, Nae morning, nae e’vning brings pleasure to me. ​O! waefu' the parting, when smiling at danger, Young Allan left Scotia to meet wi' the fae: Cauld, cauld now he lies in a land amang strangers, Frae friends and fare Helen for ever away.
By the sik on the mountain resists the blast rairin’, Sae did he the brunt o’ the battle sustain, Till treachery arrested his courage sae darin', And laid him pale lifeless upon the drear plain Cauld winter the flower divests o' its cleadin', In simmer again it blooms bonny to see; But naething alas! can e’er heal my heart bleeding Drear winter remaining for ever wi' me
# The Farmer/The Careful Wife

THE CAREFUL WIFE
Hark, gentle Jane, the huntsman’s horn: Now chides my longest day: Mark ! cries Jean—see the hazy morn, Proclaims the cheerless day To hunt the stag, the fox, the hare, Fresh health these sports impart: Cries Jane, dear John, oh! pray forbear, For danger wings Death’s dart; Yoics! tantivy! soho! Dear John cries Jean, your spirits spare, Of tantivy— O, beware:
See: gentle Jane, Aurora bright, Her beams burst thro’ the sky; ​See: cries Jane by that genial light, The magic of this eye. To chase the stag, the fox, the hare, Should joys domestic yield? Cries Jane, dear John, avoid the snare, That lurks in danger’s field. Yoics! tantivy! soho: Dear John, cries Jane if life's your care, Of tantivy— O, beware:
Now, gentle Jane! I mount my mare, And spurs clap to her side: Now, cries Jane, where's the tender care You swore to me your bride. I’ll chase the stag, the fox, the hare, Though Death in ambush hide! Cries Jane, dear John, of fate beware Lest mischief should betide! Yoics! tantivy! soho! Now John convinc'd, dismounts his mare. Of tantivy—O, beware!
FINIS
# Battle of Sheriff Muir/The Battle of Sheriff Muir

THE BATTLE OF SHERRIFF MUIR.
"O cam you here the fight to shun, "Or herd the sheep wi' me man, "Or was you at the Sherra-muir, "And did the battle see man?" I saw the battle sair and tough, And reekin-red ran mony' a sheugh, My heart for fear gae sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O'clans frae woods, in tartan 'duds, Wha glaura'd at kingdoms three, man.
The red coat lads wi' black cockades To meet them were ni sla man, They rush'd and push'd an blude out-gush'd An' mony a bouk did fa' man; The great Argyle led on his files, I wa't ey glanced twenty miles; 'They hack'd and hash'd while broad swords clash And through they dash'd and bow'd and smash'd 'Till fey man died away, man.
But had you seen the philabegs, ​And skyrin tartan trews, man, ⟨when⟩ in the teeth they dar'd our whige, And covenant true blues, man; lines extended lang and large, ⟨the⟩ bayonets oppos'd the large, ⟨and⟩ thousands hasten'd to the charge, (illegible text) Highland wrath they frae the charge, (illegible text)ew blades o' death, till out o' breath, They fled like frighted doos, man.
(illegible text)now, deil Tam, can that be true? The chace gaed frae the north, man; (illegible text)w myself they did pursue The horsemen back to Forth man: (illegible text)d at Dunblane in my ain sight ⟨They⟩ took the brig wi' a' their might, (illegible text) straught to Stirling winged their flight; (illegible text) cursed lot! the gates were 'shut; (illegible text) mony a huntit poor red coat, ⟨For⟩ fear awaist did swarf, man,"
(illegible text) sister Kate cam up the gate, Wi' crowdie unto me, man; (illegible text)swore sho saw some rebels run, ⟨frae⟩ Perth unto Dundee, man: (illegible text)ir left-hand general had nae skill, (illegible text) Angus lads had mae good-will, ​That day their neighbour's blood to spill, For fear by foes, that they should lose Their cogs o' brose all crying, woes And so it goes you see, man.
They've lost some gallant shentlemen, Amang the Highland clans, man; I fear my lord Panmure is slain. Or fallen in whiggish hands man; Now wad ye sing this double fight, Some fell for wrang and some for right; The ye may tell how pell and mell, By red claymores and musket knell, Wi' dying yell, the tories fell, And whigs to hell did flee, man.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Battle of Sheriff-Muir 3

Battle of Sheriff-Muir.
[This is Burns's version of the battle of Sheriff-muir, which he contributed to Johnson's Museum, and which, as will be seen, is founded on the preceding.]
O, cam' ye here the fecht to shun, Or herd the sheep wi' me, man; Or was ye at the Shirra-muir, And did the battle see, man? ​I saw the battle, sair and teuch, And reekin' red ran mony a sheuch; My heart, for fear, ga'e sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O' clans frae wuds, in tartan duds, Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, To meet them were na slaw, man; They rush'd, and push'd, and bluid out-gush'd, And mony a bouk did fa', man: The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanced twenty miles; They hough 'd the clans like nine-pin kyles; They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash'd, And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, Till fey men died awa', man.
But had you seen the philabegs, And skyrin' tartan trews, man, When in the teeth they daur'd our Whigs And covenant true-blues, man: In lines extended lang and large, When bayonets opposed the targe, And thousands hasten'd to the charge: Wi' Highland wrath, they frae the sheath Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, They fled like frighted doos, man.
O how deil, Tam, can that be true? The chase gaed frae the north, man; I saw mysell, they did pursue The horsemen back to Forth, man; And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, They took the brig wi' a' their might, And straight to Stirling wing'd their flight; But, cursed lot! the gates were shut, And mony a huntit puir red-coat For fear amaist did swarf, man.
My sister Kate cam' up the gate, Wi' crowdie unto me, man She swore she saw some rebels run Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: Their left-hand general had nae skill, The Angus lads had nae guid-will That day their neebours' bluid to spill; For fear, by foes, that they should lose Their cogs o' brose, they scared at blows. And homeward fast did flee, man.
They've lost some gallant gentlemen Amang the Highland clans, man; I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. Or in his enemies' hands, man. Now wad ye sing this double flight, Some fell for wrang, and some for right; And mony bade the world gude night; Say pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell, How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell Flew aff in frighted bands, man.
# Battle of Sheriff Muir/Young Allan

YOUNG ALLAN.
The sun in the west fa's to rest in the e'ening, Ilk morn blinks cheerfu' upon the green lea; But ah! on the pillow of sorrow aye leaning, Nae morning, nae e'ening brings pleasure to me. O! waefu the parting when smiling at danger, Young Allan left Scotia to meet wi' the fae; Cauld cauld now he lies in a land among strangers Frae friends and frae Helen for ever away.
As the aik on the mountain resists the blast rairin, Sae did he the brunt of the battle sustain, Till treachery arrested his courage sae darin', And laid him pale, lifeless upon the drear plain. Cauld winter the flower divests o' it's cleadin', In simmer again it blooms bonny to see ; But naething alas! can e'er heal my heart bleedin's Drear winter remaining for eyet wi' me.
FINIS.
# Lilies of the Valley (1825, Stirling)/This is No My Plaid

THIS IS NO MY PLAID.
# The Book of Scottish Song/This is no my plaid

This is no my plaid.
[W. Halley.]
O this is no my plaid, My plaid, my plaid; O this is no my plaid, Bonnie though the colours be.
The ground o' mine was mix'd wi' blue, I gat it friie the lad I lo'e, He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue, An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c.
For mine was silky, saft, an' warm, It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm, An' like himsel', it bore a charm, An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c.
The lad that gied me't likes me weel, Although his name I darena tell, He likes me just as weel's himsel', An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c.
Frae surly blasts it covers me, He'll me himsel' protection gi'e, I'll lo'e him till the day I die, His plaid shall aye be dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c.
The time may come, my ain dear lad, When we will to the kirk and wed, Weel happit in thy tartan plaid, That plaid shall aye be dear to me. O this will then be my plaid, My plaid, my plaid, O this will then be my plaid, An' while I live shall ever be.
# Jim Crow/This is no my plaid

THIS IS NO MY PLAID.
O this is no my plaid, My plaid, my plaid, O this is no my plaid, Bonny though the colours be.
The ground of mine was mix’d wi’ blue, I got it frae the lad I loe; He ne’er has gi’en me cause to rue, And O the plaid was dear to me. Farewell ye lowland plaids o’ grey, Nae kindly charms for me ye hae, The tartan shall be mine for aye, For O the colour’s dear to me.
For mine was silky, saft and warm, It wrapped me round frae arm to arm, And like mysel’ it bore a charm, And O the plaid is dear to me. ​Although the lad the plaid who wore, Is now upon a distant shore; And cruel seas between us roar, I’ll mind the plaid that sheltered me.
The lad that gied me’t likes me weel, Although his name I darna tell, He likes me just as weel’s himsel’, And O the plaid is dear to me. O may the plaidie yet be worn, By Caledonians yet unborn; Ill fa’ the wretch that e’er doth scorn, The plaidie that’s sae dear to me.
# Peck o' maut/This is no my Plaid

THIS IS NO PLAD.
O this is no my plaid, My plaid, my plaid, O this is no my plaid, Bonny though the colours be.
The ground o' mine was mix'd wi’ blue, I gat it frae the lad I lo'e, He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue, And O! the plaid is dear to me.
Farewell ye lowland plaids o' grey, Nae kindly charm for me ye hae, The tartan shall be mine for aye, For O! the colour's dear to me.
For mine was silky, soft an warm, It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm ​And like himself it bore a charm, And O! the plaid is dear to me.
Although the lad the plaid who wore, Is now upon a distant shore, And cruel seas between us roar, I'll mind the plaid that shelter'd me.
The lad that gied me't likes me well, Although his name I darena tell, He likes me just as weel's himsel', And O! the plaid is dear to me.
O may the plaidie yet be worn, By Caledonians yet unborn, I’ll fa’ the wretch wha e'er shall scorn, The plaidie that's sae dear to me.
Frae surly blasts it covers me, He'll me himsel' protection gi'e, I'll lo'e him till the day I die, And O! his plaid is dear to me.
I hope he'll no forget me now, Each aften pledged aith and vow, I hope he'll yet return to woo Me in the plaid sae dear to me.
​I hope the time may come my lad, When we will to the kirk and wed, Weel happit in the tartan plaid The plaidie that's sae dear to me.
O! this will then be my plaid, My plaid, my plaid, O! this will then be my plaid, And while I live shall ever be.
# This is no my plaid (1850s)/This is no my plaid

SONGS.
This Is No My Plaid
O this is no my plaid, My pliad, my plaid O this is no my plaid Bonny though the colours be
The ground of mine was mix d wi' blue I got it frae the lad I loe ; He ne er has gi‘en me cause to rue and o the plaid was dear to me.
Farewell ye lowland plaids o‘ grey nae kindly charms for me ye hae The tartan shall be mine for aye for o the colour's dear to me.
For mine was silky saft and warm it wrapped me round frae arm to arm And like myself it bore a charm, and O! the plaid is dear to me
​Although the lad the plaid who wore, is now upon a distant shore ; And cruel seas between us roar, I'll mind the plaid that sheltered me,
The lad that gied me‘t likes me weel, altho‘ his name I daurna tell He likes me just as weel's himsel‘ and o the plaid is dear to me,
O may the plidie yet be worn, by Caledonions yet unborn. I ll fa‘ the wretch that e'er doth scorn, the pladie that's sae dear to me.
From surly blasts it covers me ; he ll me himsel protecton give ; I'll loe him till the day I die, and O his plaid is dear to me.
I hope he'll no forget me now each often pledged aith and vow ; I hope he'll yet return to woo me in the plaid sae dear to me.
I hope the time will come my lad when we will to the kirk and wed Weel happit in the tartan plaid the plaidie thats sae dear to me.
# This is no my plaid (1850s)

This is
NO MY PLAID.
To which are added,
The auld man gaun to be married.
THOUR’T GANE AWA.
AND
THE WARNING MOAN.
GLASGOW, PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
* This is no my plaid
* The auld man gaun to be married
* Thour't gane awa
* The warning moan
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
# This is no my plaid (1850s)/The auld man gaun to be married

The auld man gaun to be Married.
In Beith there lived a frail auld man, His age was sixty-five an' ten, Wha took a break, whan near his en’ that he wad gang an' marry :
The auld man there liv d in Beith. The aged man that dwall't in Beith, The deein' man that liv'd in Beith. he wad gang try an' marry.
He lee'd an cheated pinched his wame, Grew rich by mony a dirty scheme, But he turned auld an' stiff an' lame, Black crabbit an camstrary.
The rich auld man that liv'd in Beith, The worthless man hat dwall t in Beith. The crabbit man that dwall‘t in Beith, wad fain gae try an marry.
He thought on Meg sae trig an douce, To wash his claes an clean his house That ne er a spider nor a louse, in his abode might tarry,
​The aged man that liv'd in Beith, The dirty man that liv'd in Beith, The black auld man that wenn'd in Beith, Saw nae relief but marry.
He promised cash he hecht her braws, Himsel an' a' within his was Nae bittin horse nor empty sta's, but brimfu cups to carry.
The loving man that lived in Beith The amorous man hat dwelt in Beith, The frank auld man that dwalt in Beith, wad gie his all an marry.
But ah, the road to her was lang The man was frail an‘ cou‘dna gang; His kin said things war, a gaun wrang- The auld fool wad them herry.
The frail auld man that liv d in Beith; The cross‘d auld chap that liv‘d in Beith, The vex d auld man that dwall‘t in Beith, They wadna let him marry.
They watch‘d him closely out and in Said he was daft--they wad him bin The frail auld Beith man didna win To court his winsome deary.
​The captive man that lived in Beith; The daft auld fool that was in Beith The auld man that liv‘d in Beith, He ne er got leave to marry,
Ye youngsters a' that hear my sang Gif e’er ye marry do t ere lang, For time and care will ding ye wrang, An' ye'll grow stiff and sairy-
Just like the auld black man in Beith The doitet worn out man o‘ Beith, The single man that liv d in Beith, Wha couldna maun to marry.
Ye're just as daft's the man o Beith, Your staunch auld friend that liv’d in Beith: Ye'll perish like the man o' Beith, Wha dee't ere he could marry.
When ye are auld, gin ye he poor, Your kin will drive you frae their door: Gin ye be rich they'll use you waur, They ll never let you marry.
This fate befel the mon of Beith, The poor rich man that liv‘d iu Beith, A warning to the folk o’ Beith, To gang in time and marry.
# This is no my plaid (1850s)/Thour't gane awa

Thou’rt Gane Awa’.
Thou rt gane awa, thou‘rt gane awa' thourt gane awa frae me Mary. Nor friends nor I could make thee stay, thou st cheated them and me, Mary Until this hour I never thought that ought could alter thee, Mary ; Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart think what thou wilt of me, Mary.
Whate'er he said or might pretend wha stole that heart o thine, Mary. True love I’m sure was ne’er his end nor nae sic love is mine. Mary I spake sincere, ne'er flattered much. had no unworthy thought, Mary. Ambition, wealth, nor naething such no, I lov'd only thee, Mary.
Though you've been false, yet while I live no other maid I'll woo Mary ; Let friends forget, as I forgive, thy wrongs to them and me, Mary. So then farewell, of this be sure, since you ve been false to me, Mary, For all the world I'd not endure half what I ve done for thee, Mary.
# This is no my plaid (1850s)/The warning moan

The Warning Moan.
A maiden fair lay dying, within her palace hall, and round her couch was sighing, her bright attendants all, Her lately coroneted brow feels many a rending throe. And the hectic spot is spreading now, o'er her wan cheek of woe:
'Tis night fond ones bend o'er her, with kind affection s fears; As though they could restore her by their anguish and their tears ;
No hope their hearts need borrow,
for the watchdog's doleful cries, Tell be painful tale of sorrow. ere morning s light she dies.
She gazes round her wildly. when that sad sound is heard. Then greets her lov d ones mildy, with a parting soul’s regard : But ere the morning‘s sun has shone that fair one breathes no more. And the faithful watchdog's waring moan is also hush’d and o er.
# Peck o' maut

The date is estimated.
The Peck o' Maut;
To which are added,
This is no my Plaid.
The Highland Courtship.
Yonder's the moon, I ken her horn.
STIRLING.
Printed by W. Macnie.
* Peck o' maut
* This is no my Plaid
* The Highland Courtship
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
# Peck o' maut/Peck o' maut

THE PECK O’ MAUT.
O Willie brew’d a peck o' maut; And Rab and Allan came to pree; Three blither hearts, that lee lang night, Ye wadna found in Christendie.
We are na fou we're no that fou, But just a drappie in our ee, The cock may craw, the day may daw, And aye we'll taste the barley-bree.
Here are we met three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we; And mony night we've merry been, And mony mair we hope to be.
It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinking in the lift sae hie, She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But by my south she'll wait a wee.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold coward loun is he! Wha first beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three:
​Thus Willie, Rab and Allan sang, Thus pass'd the night wi' mirth and glee, And aye the chorus, a' night lang, Was, as we're now we hope to be.
And aye they sang We are nae fou, But just a wee drap in our e'e; The cock may craw the day may daw, And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
That time for them the cock did craw, The harbinger of morn to be; That time for them the day did daw’, Wi’ gowden tint o'er tow'r and tree.
That time for them the moon's pale horn, Did wax and wane o'er land and sea, But now has daw'd the halplers morn, That gilds the graves o' a' the three.
Nae mair they sing, “ We are nae fou,” Nae mair the drappie's in their e'e; Nor cock does craw nor day does daw’, Nae mair they'll taste the barley bree.
Thus Learning maks for Willie main, For Robin poesy wipes her e'e, ​And Science wails for Allan gone, Since death's dark house haude a' the three.
Then Britons mourn for genius rare, A victims to the barley-bree; An bann the bree that coudna spare The youthfu’ lives o' a’ the three.
# Peck o' maut/The Highland Courtship

THE HIGHLAND COURTSHIP.
I went between Dundee and Perth To see my lassie for to flatter, Amongst the groves I there did meet, The bonny lass of Tay water,
Will ye gang wi' me lassie, To the Highland glens lassie, To Breadalbane we will go The flocks for to attend lassie.
You shall be comely in your dress, And lie upon a bed of heather, A tartan mantle you shall wear, To keep frae the snawie weather.
​You shall hae baith curds and whey, And wealth o‘ flesh to your brochin, Our lasses, with their spinning wheels, I'm sure will keep you aye laughing.
We will wander up the hill, To view the sheep and lambs sae bonnie, Sae lassie now make no delay, For I love thee best of ony.
I wad not like these highland glens, So far awa amang the heather; I could freely gang wi' thee, But yet I darena for my mither.
I canna gang wi' thee laddie, To the Highland glens laddie, Nor to Breadalbane I’ll not go, Your flocks to attend laddie.
For I do love those lowland vales, Believe me lad I do not flatter, To live between Dundee and Perth, Or, at the mouth of Tay water.
Then farewell lass, since you'll nae gang, But yet with all you are my deary, ​Upon the banks of flowing Tay, With you my love I ne'er wad weary.
Since ye'll no gang wi’ me lassie, To the highland glens lassie, Now I must bid you farewell, I ne'er will come again lassie.
O laddie dinna speak so fast, Let us gae thro' Dunkeld thegither, To the highlands wi’ thee I’ll gang, Amang the bonnie blooming heather.
And I will gang wi' thee laddie, To the highland glens laddie, For what I said was but in jest, Your flocks I will attend laddie.
FINIS.
# Jim Crow

Jim Crow.
HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER.
MARY OF CASTLECARY.
HAUD AWA FRAE ME DONALD.
THIS IS NO MY PLAID.
OF A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.
AULD LANGSYNE.
GLASGOW PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 66.
* Jim Crow
* Hey for a lass wi' a tocher
* Mary of Castlecary
* Haud awa frae me Donald
* This is no my plaid
* Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
* Auld langsyne
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
# Jim Crow/Jim Crow

SONGS.
JIM CROW.
I came from ole Kentucky, A long time ago, Where I first larned to wheel about, And jump Jim Crow. Wheel about, and turn about, and do jis so, Ebry time I wheel about, I jump Jim Crow.
I us’d to take him fiddle, Ebry morn and afternoon, And charm de ole buzzard, And dance to de racoon. Wheel about, &c.
I landed fust at Liverpool, Dat place of ships and docks, I strutted down Lord Street, And ask’d de price of stocks. Wheel about, &c.
I paid my fare den up to town, On de coach to cut a dash De axle-tree soon gave way, And spilt us wid a smash. Wheel about, &c.
​I lighted den upon my head, All in de nassy dirt, Dey all thought that I was dead, But I laughed and was’nt hurt. Wheel about, &c.
Dis head you know am pretty tick, Cause dere it makes a hole, On de dam macadamis road, Much bigger dan a bowl. Wheel about, &c.
When I got into Lunnon, Dey took me for a savage, But I war pretty well behaved, So I ’gaged wid Massa Davidge. Wheel about, &c.
Dem young Jim Crows ’bout de streets, More like a raven rader, Pray good people don’t mistake, .Indeed I’m not dare fader. Wheel about, &c.
Dem urchin’s dat sing my song, Had better mind dar books, For any how dey can’ be Crows, You see d’are only Rooks. Wheel about, &c.
# Jim Crow/Mary of Castlecary

MARY OF CASTLECARY.
Saw ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing? Saw ye my true love down by yon lea? Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloaming, Sought she the burnie whare flowers the haw free? Her hair it is lint-white, her skin it is milk-white, Dark is the blue o’ her saft-rolling e’e, Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses, Where could my wee thing wander frae me?
I saw your ain Mary, she’s frae Castlecary, I saw your ain true love down on yon lea, ​Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she gae to me. Sair gloom’d his dark brow, blood red his cheek grew, Wild flash’d the fire frae his dark rolling e’e; Ye’ll rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning, Defend ye, fause traitor, fu’ loudly ye lie.
Awa wi’ beguiling, cried the youth smiling, Aff went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flow, The belted plaid fa’ing, her white bosom shawing, Fair stood the loved maid wi’ the dark-rolling e’e. Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing? Is it my true love here that I see? Oh, Jamie! forgie me, your heart’s constant to me, I’ll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!
# Jim Crow/Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

OF A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly loe the west, For there the bonny lassie lives, The lassie I loe best.
Though wild-woods grow, and rivers row Wi’ mony a hill between, Baith day and night my fancy’s flight Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flower, Sae lovely, sweet and fair; I hear her voice in ilka bird, Wi’ music charm the air.
There’s no a bonnie flower that springs, By fountain, shaw, or green, Nor yet a bonny bird that sings, But minds me o’ my Jean.