OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Flowers of the Forest (1825)/The Soldier's Return

THE SOLDIER’S RETURN.
When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn And gentle peace returning, And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, That had been blear’d wi' mourning. I left the lines and tented fields, Whar lang I‘d been a lodger; A humble knapsack on my back, A poor but honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi’ plunder; And for fair Scotia, hame again, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o’ Coil, I thought upon my Nancy; I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy. ​At length I reach'd the bonny glen, Where early life I spurted; I passed the miil and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted; Wha spied I but my ain clear maid, Down by her mother's dwelling! I turn'd me round to hide the flood That in my een was swelling.
Wi’ alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O! happy; happy may he be, That's dearest to thy bosom! My purse is light, I've far to gang, And fain would be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country lang— Take pity on a sodger!
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. And lovelier her grew than ever; Quo’ she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never; Our humble cot and hamely fare. Ye freely shall partake it; That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd—she redden'd like a rose— ​Syne pale like ony friy, She sank within my arms and cried, Art thou my ain dear Willie? By Him who made yon sun and sky— By whom true love‘s regarded, I am the man; and thus may still True lovers be rewarded!
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, And find thee still true-heart'ed! Tho’ poor in gear, we're rich in love, And mair we'se ne'er be parted. Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, A mailen plenish'd fairly; And come, my faithfu' sodger lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.
For gold the merchant ploughs the main The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the sodger's prize, The sodger's wealth is honour. The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, Nor count him as a stranger, Remember he's his country's stay, In day and hour of danger.
# The Flowers of the Forest (1825)/Corn Riggs are Bonny

CORN RIGGS ARE BONNY.
My Patie is a lover gay, His mind is never muddy. His breath is sweeter than new hay, His face is fair and ruddy. His shape is handsome, middle size; He’s stately in his walking; The shining of his een surprise; ’Tis heav’n to hear him talking.
Last night I met him on a bauk, Where yellow corn was growing. There mony a kindly word he spak, That set my heart a-glowing. He kiss’d, and vow’d he wad be mine. And loo’d me best of ony; That gars me like to sing sinsyne, O corn riggs are bonny.
Let maidens of a silly mind Refuse what maist they’re wanting, Since we for yielding are design’d, We chastely should be granting. Then I’ll comply and marry Pate, And syne my cockernony He’s free to touzle air or late, Where corn riggs are bonny.
# The Flowers of the Forest (1825)/Andro Wi' His Cutty Gun

ANDRO Wl’ HIS CUTTY GUN.
Blyth, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she but and ben; 0 weel she lo'ed a Hawick gill, And leugh to see a tappit hen. She took me in, and set me down, And hecht 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 earlin 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 ayont the sun; But the blythest lad that e'er I saw, Was Andro wi‘ his cutty gun. Blyth, blyth, &c.
FINIS.
# Sweet Adeline

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.
* "Sweet Adeline" (1903), a ballad with lyrics by Richard Husch Gerard, music by Harry Armstrong
* Sweet Adeline (1929), a Broadway musical play by various authors (scan needed)
* Sweet Adeline (1926), a sound cartoon in the Ko-Ko series (external scan)
* Sweet Adeline (1926), a silent live-action film directed by Jerome Storm, starring Charles Ray which may survive (scan needed)

## See also

* Adeline
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Adeline

ADELINE.
# Adeline (Tennyson)

* "Adeline", in Poems, Chiefly Lyrical (1830)
* "Adeline", in Poems, Volume I (1843)
# Poems (Tennyson, 1843)/Volume 1/Adeline

ADELINE.
Mystery of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?
Whence that aery bloom of thine, Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline, And a rose-bush leans upon,
Thou that faintly smilest still, As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day, Or a phantom two hours old Of a maiden passed away, Ere the placid lips be cold? Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, Spiritual Adeline?
What hope or fear or joy is thine? Who talketh with thee, Adeline? For sure thou art not all alone: Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews?
Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses underneath? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise? Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?
Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to close His curtains, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind. What aileth thee? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow, And those dew-lit eyes of thine, Thou faint smiler, Adeline?
Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies?
Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side o' the morn, Dripping with Sabæan spice On thy pillow, lowly bent With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-dropping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays, And ye talk together still, In the language wherewith Spring Letters cowslips on the hill? Hence that look and smile of thine, Spiritual Adeline.
# Highland plaid (3)/The Highland Plaid

THE HIGHLAND PLAID.
Lowland lassie, wilt thou go Where the hills are clad wi’ snow, Where, beneath the icy steep, The hardy shepherd tends his sheep? Ill nor wae shall thee betide, When row'd within my Highland Plaid.
Soon the voice of cheerie Spring Will gar a’ our plantins ring; Soon our bonnie heather braes, Will put on their simmer claes; On the mountain's sunnie side, We'll lean us on my Highland Plaid.
When the summer spreads the flowers, Busks the glens in leafy bowers, Then we'll seek the cauler shed, Lean us on the primrose bed; While the burning hours preside, I‘ll screen thee wi‘ my Highland Plaid.
Then we'll leave the sheep and goat, I will launch the bonnie boat, Skim the loch in cantie glee,
​Rest the oars to pleasure thee; When chilly breezes sweep the tide, I‘ll hap thee wi' my Highland Plaid.
Lowland lads may dress mair fine, Woo in words mair saft than mine; Lowland lads hae mair of art, A' my boast 's an honest heart, Whilk shall ever be my pride— O row thee in my Highland Plaid.
Bonnie lad, ye've been sae leal, My heart wad break at our fareweel; Lang your love has made me fain, Tak me-tak me for your ain. ’Cross the Frith, away they glide, Young Donald and his Lowland bride.
# Highland plaid (3)/Irish Providence

IRISH PROVIDENCE.
My darling, says Pat, to his spouse on his lap, At this present writing we're not worth a rap, With our faces so lean, and our duds on our backs. Our cow and our pig, my dear Norah, are dead,
​Not a single paratoe is left us for bread; The science of ploughing my father taught me, So I'll e'en try the water and plough the salt sea, With my Jill, sing Jack, sing Bibligo whack.
Says Norah, when you're on the ocean, my life, Sure Providence then will take care of your wife, For no babies have we, not a Jill nor a Jack. But when Pat was away, what did Providence do, Made the squire build for Norah a cabin quite new, He furnish'd it gaily to dry up her tears, And he peopl'd it too in the space of three years, With his Jill, sing Jack, &c.
But when Paddy return'd how it gladden‘d his heart, To see his dear Norah so fine and so smart, With her rings in her ears and her silks on her back. And who furnish'd for you this cabin, says Pat? 'Twas Providence, says Norah, himself that did that;
​Then Providence, Pat cried, as looking around, Is the neatest Upholsterer ever was found, With his Jill, sing Jack, &c.
Then Norah, dear Norah, come tell me if you please, Whose four little chubby-cheek'd rascals are these, These pretty gossoons, with their locks all so black? They are mine, Pat, by Providence sent me, d'ye see— Botheration! says Pat, come now don't humbug me; For if Providence minds to send legs to your chairs, Sure he'll never forget to send fathers for heirs, With his Jill, sing Jack, &c.
Och Norah, when I've been upon the salt sea, By Saint Patrick, you've been a big traitress to me, May whisky console me, for I'm on the rack. For if Providence peoples my cabin with brats
​While I'm sailing over live herrings and sprats, Mr Deputy Providence, that'll ne'er do, So to him and old Nick I kick babies and you, With my Jill, sing Jack, &c.
# Highland plaid (3)/The Braw Wooer

THE BRAW WOOER.
Ae day a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me— I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce tak the lad to believe me, believe me. The deuce tak the lad to believe me.
He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een, And vow'd for my love he was dying; I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, The Lord forgie me for lying.
A weel-stocked maiden, himsel for the laird, And marriage aff-hand was his proffer; I never loot on that I ken'd it or car'd, But thought I might get a waur offer, waur offer, But thought I might get a waur offer.
But what do ye think, in a fortnight or less, The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
​He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jade! I could bear her, could bear her, Guess ye how, the jade! I could bear her.
But a' the neist ouk as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my braw fickle wooer was there, I glowr'd as if I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as if I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, Lest neebors might say I was saucy; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I speer'd for my cousin fu’ couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover’d her hearin’, And how my auld shoon fitted her shauchl’t feet, But preserve us! how he fell a swearin', a swearin', Preserve us! how he fell a swearin.
He begged for gudesake I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; So just to preserve the puir body in life, I think I will wed him to-morrow, to-morrow. I think I will wed him to morrow.
# Adeline

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.

## Plays

* Adeline (1822), a play by R.-C. Guilbert de Pixérécourt (external scan)

## Poems

* "Adeline", a poem by Joseph Story ("Yon desolate mansion, so drearily old,")
* "Adeline", a poem by Alfred Tennyson ("Mystery of mysteries,")

## See also

* Sweet Adeline
# Highland plaid (3)/I'll Love Thee No More

I'LL LOVE THEE NO MORE.
When the rose-bud of summer, its beauties bestowing, On winter's rude banks all its sweetness shall pour; And the sunshine of day in night’s darkness be glowing, Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I’ll love you no more.
When of hope, the last spark which thy smile us'd to cherish, In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er, And the pulse of this heart which adores you shall perish, Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I’ll love you no more.
FINIS.
# Kebbuckston wedding

THE Kebbuckston Wedding.
Oh, haste and leave this lonely isle.
Rest, Warrior, rest.
The Meeting of the Waters.
Glasgow—Printed for the Booksellers.
* The Kebbuckston Wedding
* Oh, Haste and Leave this Lonely Isle
* Rest Warrior, Rest
* Meeting of the Waters
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Kebbuckston wedding/The Kebbuckston Wedding

THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDIN'
Auld Watty o’ Kebbuckston brae, Wi’ lear an’ readin’ o’ beuks auld-farren, What think ye! the body cam’ ower the day An’ tauld us he’s gaun to be married to Mirren; We a’ gat a biddin’ Te gang to the waddin' Baith Johnie an’ Sawney, an’ Nelly an’ Nany, An’ Tam o’ the knowes, He swears au’ he vows, At the dancin’ he’ll face to the bride wi’ his grannie.
A’ the lads hae trysted their jocs, Slee Willie cam up and ca’d on Nelly, Altho’ she was hecht to Geordie Bowse, She’s gien him the gusk an’ she’s gaun wi’ Willie— Wee collier Johnnie Has yocket his ponney,
​An’s aff to the town for a ladin’ o’ nappy, Wi’ fonth o’ gude meat, To ser’ us to eat, She wi’ fuddlin, an’ feastin’ we’ll a’ be fou happy.
Wee Patie Brydie’s to say the grace, The body’s ay ready at dredgies an’ weddin's, An’ flunkey M‘Fee, o’ the Skiverton place, Is chosen to scuttle the pies an’ the puddin’s; For there’ll be plenty O’ ilka thing dainty, Baith lang kail an’ haggies, an’ every thing fitting, Wi’ luggies o’ beer, Our wizzens to clear, Sae the deil fill his kyte wha gangs clung frae the meeting.
Lowrie has caft Gibbie Cameron’s gun, That his auld gutcher bore when he follow’d Prince Charley, The barrel was rusted as black the grun, But he’s taen’t to the smiddy an’s fettled it rarely: Wi‘ wallets o’ pouther, His masket he’ll shouther, An’ ride at our head to the bride’s a’ paradin’
​At ilka farm town He’ll fire them three roun,’ Till the hale kintra ring wi’ the Kebbukston Weddin’
Jamie and Johnnie maun ride the brouse, For few like them can sit i’ the saddle, An’ Willy Cobreath, ⟨the⟩ best o’ bows, Is trysted to jig i’ the barn wi’ his fiddle; Wi’ whiskin, an’ fliskin’, An’ reelin’ an’ wheelin’, The young anes a’ like to loup out o’ the body An’ Neilie M'Nairn, Though sair forfairn, He vows that he’ll wallop twa sets wi’ the howdie.
Sauney M‘Nab, wi’ his tartan trews, Has hecht to come down in the midst o’ the caper, An’ gie us three wallops o' merry-shantrews Wi’ the true highland-fling o’ Maccrimmon the piper; Sic hippin’ an’ skippin’, An’ springin’ an’ flingin’, I's wad that there’s nane i’ the lallands can waff it! Foth Willy maun fiddle and jirgum an’ diddle, An' screed till the sweat fa’ in beads frae his haffet.
​Then gie me your han,’ my trusty gude frien', An’ gie me your word my worthy auld kimmer, Ye’ll baith come owre on Friday bedeen, An' join us in rantin’ an’ toomin’ the timmer Wi’ fouth o' gude liquor, We’ll haud at the bickar, An’ lang may the mailin o’ Kebbuckttone flourlsh, For Watty’s sae free, Between you an’ me, I’se warren’t he’s bidden the ha’f o’ the parish.
# Kebbuckston wedding/Oh, Haste and Leave this Lonely Isle

OH, HASTE AND LEAVE THIS LONELY ISLE.
Oh, haste and leave this lonely isle, Unholy bark, ere morning smile, For on thy deck, though dirk it be, A female form I see. And I have sworn this lonely sod Shall ne’er by woman’s foot be trod.’
'Oh, father send not hence my bark, Thro' wintry winds and billows dark; I come with humble heart to share Thy morn and evening prayer; Nor mine the feet, Oh. holy saint, The brightness of thy god to taint,'
​The lady’s prayer, Senanus spurned, The winds blew fresh, the bark returned; But legends hint, ihat had the maid ’Till mornlng’s light delay’d, And given the saint one rosy smile, She ne’er had left this lonely isle.
# Kebbuckston wedding/Rest Warrior, Rest

REST WARRIOR, REST.
He comes from the wars, from the red field of fight, He comes thro’ the storm and the darkness of night, For rest and for refuge now fain to implore, The warrior bends low at the cottager’s door. Pale, pale, pale is his cheek; there’s a gash on his brow; His locks o’er his shoulders distractedly flow And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye, Like a languishing lamp that just flashes to die. Rest Warrior, rest,—Rest Warrior, rest.
Sunk in silence and sleep on the Cottager’s bed, Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head; ​Perchance he may dream, but the vision shall tell Of his lady love’s bower, and her latest farewell. Illusion and love chase the battles alarms, He shall dream that his Mistress lies lock’d in his arms; He shall feel on his lips the sweet warmth of her kiss: Ah! Warrior, wake not, such slumber is bliss. Rest, Warrior, rest—Rest, Warrior, rest
# Kebbuckston wedding/Meeting of the Waters

MEETING OF THE WATERS.
There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet, Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart!
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er the scene, Her purest of chrystal and brightness of green: ​’Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill; Oh! no—it was something more exquisite still?
’Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear; And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Sweet vale of Ovoca! how could I rest, In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, Where the storms which we feel in this cold world shall cease, And our hearts like thy waters, be mingled in peace.
FINIS.
# Old woman clothed in Gray/An Old Woman Clothed in Gray

AN OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GRAY.
An old worn in clothed in gray, had a daughter was charming & young, But she was deluded astray by Rogers false flattering tongue;
With whom she often had been, abroad in the meadows end fields; Her belly grew up to her chin her spirit sunk down to her heels.
At length she began for to puke, her mother possessed with fear: She gave her a gentle rebuke, and cry’d, Daughter's word in your ear.
I doubt you've been playing the fool, which many call'd hey ding a ding, Why did you not follow my rule, and tie your two toes in a string.
O Mother! your counsel I took, but yet I was never the noar: He won my heart with a false look, and his words so enchanted mine ear,
​That your precepts I soon did forget, he on me and would have his scope, Oil is but a folly to fret, 'tis done and for it there's no help.
Then who is the father of it? come tell me without more delay? For now I am just in the fit, to go and hear what he will say.
It is Roger. the damsel reply'd, he cull'd me his own pretty bird, And said that I should be his bride, but he was not so good as his word.
What! Roger that lives in the mill? yes, verily; Mother the same: What! Roger that lives in the mill? I'll hap to him tho' I am lame;
Go fetch me my crutches with speed, and bring me my spectacles too, A lecture to him I will read, shall ring in his ears thro' and thro'.
With that she went hoping away, and went to oung Hodge of the mill, ​On him she her crutches did lay and cry'd, You have ruin'd my Girl,
By getting her dear maidenhead, 'tis true you can no ways deny, Therefore I advise you to wed, and make her as honest as I.
Then what will you give me? quoth Hodge, if I take your Daughter by hand! Will you make me the heir of yonr lodge? your houses, your money, and land,
With all your barns and ploughs, your cattle and money also? If so, I will make her my spouse, speak up Are you willing or no.
Then Goody took Hodge by the hand, let it be for to have and to hold; I will make you the heir of my land, my houses, my silver, and gold.
Make her but your honoured wife. and you shall be Lord of my store, Whene'er I surrender my life, in case it were forty times more.
​The bargain was presently struck, they' wedded—and this being done, The old woman wished them good luck, being proud of her Daughter and Son.
Then, Hey for a Girl or a Boy; young Peg look'd as big as a Duchess, The Old Woman caper'd for joy, and danc’d up a jig in her crutches.
# Old woman clothed in Gray/The Bird. A New Song.

THE BIRD. A NEW SONG.
The bird that hears her nestling long, and flies abroad for food, Returns impatient through the sky, to nurse her hallow breed.
The tender mother knows no joy, but bodes a thousand hams, And sickens for her darling boy, while absent from her arms.
Such fondness with impatience joined, my faithful bosom fire, Nor forc’d to leave my fair behind, The Queen of my desire.
​The power of verse too languid prove, all similar in vain To show ardently I love or to relieve my pain.
The faint with ardent zeal inspir'd, for heaven and joys divine The faint is not with rapture fir'd, more pure, more warm than mine,
I take what liberty I dare, 'twere impious to say more, Convey my lodgings to the fair, The Godess I adore
# Old woman clothed in Gray/I Would if I Was Not So Young

I WOULD IF I WAS NOT SO YOUNG.
⟨In⟩ my holiday gown, and my new fashion’d hat, last monday I went to the fair, ⟨I⟩ held up my head, and I'll tell you for what, young Roger I guess'd would be there: He woo’s me to marry, whenever we meet' there's honey sure dwells on his tongue, ​He hugs me so close, and kisses so sweet, that I would I would, I would if I was not so young.
Pert sue I’ll assure you got hold of my Boy, the Vixen would fain be his bride; A token she'd hove either ribband or toy, and swore that she'd not be deny’d. A top knot he bought me and garters of green, the wench was confounded and stung; I hate her so much, that with anger and spleen, That I wou'd, I wou'd, I would, etc.
He whisper’d such pretty soft things in my ear, he promis’d he flatter’d he swore. Such trinket she bought me, such ribbands & gear that trust me my pockets run o'er: Some ballads he bought me the best he could find and sweetly the burthen he sung; Faith he’s so witty so handsome and kind, that I would, I wou’d I wou'd, etc.
The sun was just setting, 'twas time to retire, our cottage was distant a mile, I turn’d to be gone, Roger bow'd like a 'squire, and handed me over the stile His arms he threw round me, love laughed in his eye he led me the meadow along, He hugg'd me close that I own'd with a sigh, that I wou'd; that I wou'd, I wou'd, etc.
FINIS.
# Twine weel the plaiden (1)/Twine Weel the Plaiden

twine weel the plaiden.
O I hae lost my silken snood, That tied my hair so yellow, I’ve gie’n my heart io the lad I loed, He was a gallant fellow. And twine it weel my bonny dow, And twine it weel the plaiden, The lassie lost her silken snood, In pu’ing o’ the bracken.
He prais’d my e’en sae bonny blue, Sae lily white my skin, O, And syne he prie’d my bonnie mou', And swore it was nae sin, O. And twine it weel, my bonnie dow, And twine it weel the plaiden; The lassie lost her silken snood, In pu’ing o’ the bracken.
But ha has left the lass he loo’d, His ain true love forsaken, Which gars me sair to greet the snood, I lost amang the bracken. ​And twine it weel my bonnie dow, And twine it weel the plaiden; The lassie lost her silken snood, In pn’ing o’ the bracken.