OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks

Lassie wi’ the lintwhite locks.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of "Rothiemurchus' Rant." The heroine was Jean Lorimer, of whom we have had occasion to speak in previous notes.]
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi' me tend the flocks ': Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
Now Nature cleads the flowery lea, And a' is young and sweet like thee; O, wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my dearie, O? Lassie wi, &c.
And when the welcome summer shower Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, We'll to the breathing woodbine bower, At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Through yellow-waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my dearie, O.
And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lassie, would ye lo'e me

Lassie, would ye lo’e me.
[Music by J. W. Holder.]
Oh, gin I were a baron's heir, And could I braid wi' gems your hair, And make ye braw as ye are fair, Lassie, would ye lo'e me?
And could I tak' ye to the town, And shaw ye braw sights mony a ane, And busk ye fine in silken gown, Lassie, would ye lo'e me?
Or should ye be content to prove, In lowly life unfading love, A heart that nought on earth could move, Lassie, would ye lo'e me?
And ere the lav'rock wing the skie, Say, wad ye to the forest hie, And work wi' me sae merrilie, Lassie, could ye lo'e me?
And when the braw moon glistens o'er, Our wee bit bield and heathery muir, Will ye na greet for ye're sae puir, Lassie, though I lo'e ye?
For I ha'e nought to offer ye, Nae gowd frae mine, nae pearl frae sea, Nor am I come o' hie degree, Lassie, but I lo'e ye.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lassie wi' the raven locks

Lassie wi’ the raven locks.
[A. Fletcher, schoolmaster, Dunoon, Argyleshire.—Tune, "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks."]
Lassie wi' the raven locks, Charming lassie, Highland lassie; Gladly wad I tend thy flocks, Bonnie Highland Mary, O.
Where Echaig Joins the briny tide, And Cowal's hills spread far and wide, Alang the winding banks o' Clyde, I met wi' Highland Mary, O. Lassie wi", &c.
Her foot sae neatly mark'd the sand, An' gently waved her lily hand, As, slow, she traced the sea-beat strand, The lovely Highland Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c.
How mildly glanced her hazel e'e! Like sunbeams on the dewy lea:— It, stowlins, wiled the heart frae me, The witching smile of Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c.
Her eye-brows of a jetty-hue; Her lips "like rose-buds moist wi' dew;" A sweeter face ne'er bless'd my view Than youthfu' Highland Mary's, O. Lassie wi', &c.
Though pure the flowers that blaw unseen Amang her native woodlands green, Yet purer far's the heart, I ween, Of artless Highland Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c.
Let others range frae isle to isle, Where never-ending simmers smile:— Mair dear the groves o' Ballochyle, That shelter Highland Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c.
I'd cheerfu' toil frae dawn o' day, O'er yon lone glen and ferny brae, Could I but get, by gloaming grey, Ae blythsome blink o' Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c.
O may nae cloud the sun o'ercast, To chill this floweret's snawie breast! Nae reptile's breath untimely blast The op'ning bloom of Mary,! Lassie wi', &c.
# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Star of Ethiopia

STAR OF ETHIOPIA
Out in the Night thou art the sun
Toward which thy soul-charmed children run,
The faith-high height whereon they see
The glory of their Day To Be— The peace at last when all is done.
The night is dark but, one by one,
Thy signals, ever and anon,
Smile beacon answers to their plea,
Out in the Night.
Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun;
Give them a hope to rest upon,
A dream to dream eternally,
The strength of men who would be free
And win the battle race begun,
Out in the Night!
# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Sprin' Fevah

SPRIN' FEVAH
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Sic Vita

SIC VITA
Heart free, hand free,
Blue above, brown under,
All the world to me
Is a place of wonder.
Sun shine, moon shine, Stars, and winds a-blowing,
All into this heart of mine
Flowing, flowing, flowing!
Mind free, step free, Days to follow after,
Joys of life sold to me
For the price of laughter.
Girl's love, man's love, Love of work and duty, Just a will of God's to prove
Beauty, beauty, beauty!
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Summer Magic

SUMMER MAGIC
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Sence You Went Away

SENCE YOU WENT AWAY
Seems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright,
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light,
Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain't half so blue,
Seems lak to me dat ev'ything wants you,
Seems lak to me I don't know what to do,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me dat ev'ything is wrong,
Seems lak to me de day's jes twice es long, Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can't he'p but sigh.
Seems lak to me ma th'oat keeps gittin' dry,
Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye,
Sence you went away.
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Ships That Pass in the Night

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT
Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;
I look far out into the pregnant night,
Where I can hear a solemn booming gun
And catch the gleaming of a random light,
That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.
My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing;
For I would hail and check that ship of ships.
I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,
My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,
And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.
O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,
O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!
Is there no hope for me? Is there no way
That I may sight and check that speeding bark
Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Spring in New Hampshire

SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
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# The Book of Scottish Song/The Blaithrie o't 1

The Blaithrie o't.
["The Blaitherie o't," or, as it is otherwise called, "The Baigrie o't," is the name of a fine old Scottish song and tune, the authorship or exact age of either of which, however, cannot be ascertained. Kelly, in his Scots Proverbs, says, "'Shame fall the gear and the blad'ry o't,' is the turn of an old Scottish song, spoken when a young handsome girl marries an old man, upon the account of his wealth." Kelly's work was published in 1721, so that in that day the song, in some shape or other, must have existed, yet we cannot find it in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. There are extant two versions of "The Blaithrie o't" very much alike, and as they are neither of them long, we shall give both. The first seems to be the expression of a country maiden, whose lover, getting rich, deserts her for another with money—and there is something inexpressibly affecting in the manner in which the poor girl tells her story, her proud spirit disdaining to acknowledge to be in the least "daunton'd" by the cruel desertion. The second version seems to be rather a convivial or "deil-me-care" song. It appears in Yair's Charmer (1749,) and also in Herd's and other collections.]
I.
When I think on this warld's pelf, And the little wee share I ha'e o't to myself, And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot, May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!
Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh, But now he's got gowd and gear enough; He thinks nae mair o' me that wears the plaiden coat:— May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!
Jennie was the lassie that mucked the byre, But now she is clad in her silken attire; And Jockie says he lo'es her, and swears he's nie forgot;— May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!
But all this shall never daunton me, Sae lang as I keep my fancy free; For the lad that's sae inconstant he is not worth a groat:— May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!
II.
When I think on this warld's pelf, And how little o't I ha'e to myself, I sich and look down on my thread-bare coat; Yet the shame tak' the gear and the baigrie o't!
Johnnie was the lad that held the pleuch, But now he has gowd and gear eneuch; I mind weil the day when he was na worth a groat— And the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't!
Jenny was the lassie that muckit the byre, But now she goes in her silken attire; And she was a lass wha wore a plaiden coat— O, the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't!
Yet a' this shall never daunton me, Sae lang as I keep my fancy free; While I've but a penny to pay the t'other pot, May the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Blaithrie o't 2

The Blaithrie o't.
["The following is a set of this song," says Burns, "which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing."—From "the affairs of the kirk and the queen" being mentioned in the last verse, the song probably belongs to the reign of queen Anne.
O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand To sing you a song which you did me command; But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't.—
​I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride, I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot, And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.
Tho' my lassie ha'e nae scarlets or silks to put on, We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne; I wad rather ha'e my lassie, tho' she cam' in her smock, Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.
Tho' we ha'e nae horses or menzie at command, We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand: And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot, And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.
If we ha'e ony babies, we'll count them as lent; Ha'e we less, ha'e we mair, we will aye be content; For they say they ha'e mair pleasure that wins but a groat, Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't.
I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim; On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote, Sae tak' this for the gear and the blaithrie o't.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Blythesome Lad

The Blythesome Lad.
[Alex. Laing, of Brechin.]
The blythesome lad o' bonnie Dundee, Sae young an' fair, sae frank an' free, Wi' heart sae leal, an' love sae true, O weel he kens the way to woo; At kirk an' fair he meets wi' me, An' aye he's kind as kind can be, For love is come o' gentle kin, An' is to keep as weel's to win.
I'm blythe an' happy as ane can be, The sun wad seem to shine for me— There's nane may guess, an' nane shall ken,
The blissful hours we spent yestreen. Though lads should come in scores to woo, Though monarchs at my feet should bow, I'll keep my heart an' fancy free, For the blythsome lad o' bonnie Dundee.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Bonnie Scot

The Bonnie Scot.
[This is one of Ramsay's songs in the Tea Table Miscellany. It was written to a tune called "The Boatman," which resembles much the old air, "Nancy's to the greenwood gane." "There is a tradition," says Mr. Chambers, "mentioned by the Rev. James Hall, in his Travels through Scotland, [2 vols. 1807,] that the early song upon which Ramsay founded the above, was composed on the preference which Mary of Guise gave to our James V., as a husband, over the English Henry VIII."]
Ye gales, that gently wave the sea, And please the canny boat-man, Bear me frae hence, or bring to me My brave, my bonnie Scot-man. In haly bands we joined our hands, Yet may not this discover, While parents rate a large estate Before a faithfu' lover.
But I loor chuse, in Highland glens To herd the kid and goat, man, Ere I could, for sic little ends, Refuse my bonnie Scot-man. Wae worth the man, wha first began The base ungenerous fashion, Frae greedy views love's art to use, While strangers to its passion!
Frae foreign fields, my lovely youth, Haste to thy longing lassie, Who pants to press thy balmy mouth, And in her bosom hause thee. Love gi'es the word; then, haste on board; Fair winds and tenty boat-man, Waft o'er, waft o'er, frae yonder shore, My blythe, my bonnie Scot-man.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Boatie Rows

The Boatie Rows.
[This song appears in Johnson's Museum with three different sets of music, but it is satisfactory to know that the air now universally adopted is the genuine old one. It was arranged into a glee by William Knyvett of London. Burns says, "The author of the song beginning 'O weel may the boatie row' was a Mr. Ewen of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly affection mingling with the concerns and occupations of life. It is nearly equal to 'There's nae luck about the house.'" The Mr. Ewen here spoken of was John Ewen, Esq., who died at Aberdeen on the 21st October, 1821, in the 80th year of his age. He was a native of Montrose, but went early in life to Aberdeen, where he accumulated a fortune, partly as a dealer in hardware goods and partly by marriage. On his death, he bequeathed the bulk of his property (something above L.15,000) towards the founding of an Hospital at Montrose, similar to Gordon's Hospital of Aberdeen, for the maintenance and education of boys, overlooking entirely his only child, a daughter, who had married in 1787, and gone abroad. The will was challenged by his daughter, and finally set aside by the House of Lords, in consequence of its uncertainty and want of precision both as to the sum to be accumulated by the trustees before they were to commence building the hospital, and as to the number of boys to be educated in it when built.]
O weel may the boatie row, And better may she speed! And weel may the boatie row, That wins the bairns's bread! The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And happy be the lot of a' That wishes her to speed!
I cuist my line in Largo Bay, And fishes I caught nine; There's three to boil, and three to fry, And three to bait the line. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And happy be the lot of a' That wishes her to speed!
O weel may the boatie row, That fills a heavy creel, And cleads us a' frae head to feet, And buys our parritch meal. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And happy be the lot of a' That wish the boatie speed.
When Jamie vow'd he would be mine, And wan frae me my heart, O muckle lighter grew my creel! He swore we'd never part. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel; And muckle lighter is the lade, When love bears up the creel.
My kurtch I put upon my head, And dress'd mysel' fu' braw; I trow my heart was dowf and wae, When Jamie gaed awa: But weel may the boatie row, And lucky be her part; And lightsome be the lassie's care That yields an honest heart!
When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetie, Are up, and gotten lear, They'll help to gar the boatie row, And lighten a' our care. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel; And lightsome be her heart that bears The murlain and the creel!
And when wi' age we are worn down, And hirpling round the door, They'll row to keep us hale and warm As we did them before: ​Then, weel may the boatie row, That wins the bairns's bread; And happy be the lot of a' That wish the boat to speed!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Bonnie Bride

The Bonnie Bride.
Lichtly the bonnie bride came dune, Linking o'er the lea, Lichtly as the thissel doune Bobs i' the waivey sea.
She liltit as she passed the knau, Adune the briery dell, A lilt—'twas like the melody That fairy minstrels swell.
"O, am not I the blythest May, E'er drank heuen's breezy tide? And weel may she be proud and gay, That is young Willie's bride!
"For rosy is his douney cheile, And fair his dimpled chin, And baumey is the scented breath, His tempting lips within."
Thus sweetly sang the bonnie bride, As through the yellow broom She bounded, by the greinwood schaw, To meit her ain bridegroom.
And aye atween the lilts sae sweite, Her pure young bosom swelled, Ane form sae fair—ane eye sae brichte— Hath mortal neuer beheld.
And the bridegroom met his bonnie bride Upon the lily lea, Where sweitly moans the forest waives In mournfu' melody.
The breize o' heuen in plaintive play Sang o'er the mountayne's breast, Waiving the leavey canopy Abune their cuche of rest.
He kissit the hinny frae her lip, The dew drap frae her e e;— May ilka true and leafu' knight Pruve sic felicity!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Bonnie Scotch Lass

The Bonnie Scotch Lass.
[Evan M'Coll.—Tune, "Roderick Mhic Alpain Dubh."—Here first printed.]
Ye maidens of England, O who can surpass ye In a' that is innocent, gracefu', or fair? I ken but o' ane,—she's my ain loving lassie, The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.
What though, for your silkens, she gangs in her plaidie, What though that her dad has nae tocher to spare, Yet rich were her lover an' blest, should his bride be The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.
What though I've nae courage to tell her my wishes, For fear she'll deny—still I winna despair, Sae lang as to see me looks downward and blushes The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.
O when shall it be that, accepted an' lo'esome, I'll tell to my lov'd one how much she's my care? O, when as my ain shall I strain to my bosom The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bright gowden hair?
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Blythsome Bridal

The Blythsome Bridal.
[This piece of satiric humour was first published in Watson's collection of Scottish poems, 1706, and its authorship has generally been ascribed to Francis Semple, Esq. of Beltrees, in Renfrewshire, who lived about the middle of the 17th century. Of late years, however, it has been claimed as the composition of Sir William Scott of Thirlestane, in Selkirkshire, ancestor of the present lord Napier. His claim is only supported on the faith of an unbroken tradition in the Napier family. Sir William was married in 1699 to Elizabeth, mistress of Napier, and died in 1725. Two years after his death, a collection of his Latin poems was printed at Edinburgh.]
Fy let us a' to the bridal, For ther'll be liltin' there; For Jocks to be married to Maggie, The lass wi' the gowden hair. And there'll be langkale and pottage, And bannocks o' barley meal; And there'll be good saut herrin', To relish a cogue o' gude yill. Fy let us a', &c. ​And there'll be Sandie the souter, And Will wi' the mickle mou'; And there'll be Tam the bluter, And Andrew the tinkler, I trow. And there'll be bow-leggit Robbie, Wi' thumless Katie's gudeman; And there'll be blue-cheekit Dobbie, And Lawrie, the laird o' the land.
And there'll be sow-libber Patie, And plookie-fac'd Wat o' the mill; Capper-nosed Francie, and Gibbie, That wins in the howe o' the hill. And there'll be Alaster Sibbie, That in wi' black Bessie did mool; Wi' sneevlin' Lillie, and Tibbie, The lass that sits aft on the stool.
And there'll be Judan Maclowrie, And blinkin' daft Barbara Macleg; Wi' flae-luggit shaienie-faced Lawrie, And shangie-mou'd haluket Meg. And there'll be happer-hipp'd Nancie, And fairy-faced Flowrie by name, Muck Maudie, and fat-luggit Grizzie, The lass wi' the gowden wame.
And there'll be Girnagain Gibbie, And his glaikit wife Jenny Bell, And misle-shinn'd Mungo Macapie, The lad that was skipper himsell. There lads and lasses in pearlings Will feast in the heart o' the ha'; On sybows, and reefarts, and carlins, That are baith sodden and raw.
And there'll be fadges and brachen, And fouth o' gude gabbocks o' skate, Powsoudie, and drammock, and crowdie, And caller nowt-feet on a plate: And there'll be partens and buckles, And whytens and speldins enew, And singit sheep-heads and a haggis, And scadlips to sup till ye spew.
And there'll be gude lapper-milk kebbucks, And sowens, and farles, and baps, Wi' swats and weel-scraped painches, And brandy in stoups and in caups; And there'll be meal-kail and kustocks, Wi' skink to sup till ye rive; And roasts to roast on a brander, Of flouks that were taken alive.
Scrapped haddocks, wilks, dulse and tangle, And a mill o' gude sneeshin' to prie; When weary wi' eatin' and drinkin', We'll rise up and dance till we dee. Fy let us a' to the bridal, For there'll be liltin' there, For Jock's to be married to Maggie, The lass wi' the gowden hair.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Bonnie Rowan Bush

The Bonnie Rowan Bush.
[Robert Nicoll.]
The bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen— Where the burnie clear doth gush In yon lane glen; My head is white and auld, An' my bluid is thin an cauld,— But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.
My Jeanie first I met In yon lane glen— When the grass wi' dew was wet In yon lane glen; The moon was shinin' sweet, An' our hearts wi' love did beat,— By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.
Oh! she promised to be mine In yon lane glen; Her heart she did resign In yon lane glen: An' monie a happy day Bid o'er us pass away, Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.
Sax bonnie bairns had we In yon lane glen— Lads an' lasses young an' spree In yon lane glen; An' a blither family Than ours there cou'dna be, Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen. ​Now my auld wife's gane awa' Frae yon lane glen; An' though simmer sweet doth fa' On yon lane glen, To me its beauty's gane, For alake! I sit alane, Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Bonnie Wee Wifie

The Bonnie Wee Wifie.
[F. Bennoch.—Here first printed.—Air, "Mrs. M'Donald."]
My bonnie wee wifie, I'm waefu' to leave thee— To leave thee sae lanely an' far, far frae me; Come night an' come morning, I'll soon be returning, Then, O my dear wifie, how happy we'll be. The night it is cauld, an' the way dreigh an' dreary, The snaw's drifting blin'ly o'er moorland an' lea;
All nature looks eerie—how can she be cheerie, For weel maun she ken that I'm parted frae thee.
Oh wae is the lammy that's lost its dear mammy; An' wae is the bird that sits chirping alane; The plaints they are making—their wee bit hearts breaking, Are throbbings o' pleasure compared wi' my pain. The sun to the simmer—the bark to the timmer,— The sense to the saul, and the light to the e'e,— The bud to the blossom—sae thou'rt to my bosom, Oh wae's my heart, wifie, when parted frae thee.
There's naething availing in weeping and wailing, Though fortune be failing an' friendship decay: But love in hearts glowing—its riches bestowing, Bequeaths us a treasure death takes not away.
Let nae gruesome feeling creep o'er thy heart, stealing The bloom frae thy cheek when thou'rt thinking of me; Come night an' come morning—then hame, hame returning, Nae mair, cozie wifie, we parted shall be.