OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/Daft Days

Daft Days.
[Hugh Ainslie.]
"The midnight hour is clinking, lads, An' the douce an' the decent are winking, lails, Sae I tell you again, Be't weel or ill ta'en, It's time ye were quitting your drinking, lads."
"Gae ben an' mind your gantry, Kate, Gi'e's mair o' your beer and less bantry, Kate; For we vow whar we sit, That afore we shall flit, We'll be better acquent wi' your pantry, Kate.
"The daft days are but beginning, Kate, An' we've sworn (wad ye ha'e us be sinning, Kate?) By our faith an' our houp, We shall stick by the stoup As lang as a barrel keeps rinning, Kate.
"Thro' spring an' thro' simmer we moil it, Kate?
Through hay an' through harvest we toil it, Kate; Sae ye ken, when the wheel Is beginning to squeal, It's time for to grease or to oil it, Kate.
"Then score us another drappy, Kate, An' gi'e us a cake to our cappy, Kate; For, by spigot an' pin, It were mair than a sin To flit when we're sitting sae happy, Kate."
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dear Roger, if your Jenny

Dear Roger, if your Jenny.
[From Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd."—Tune, "Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae."]
Dear Roger, if your Jenny geck, And answer kindness with a slight, Seem unconcern'd at her neglect, For women in our vows delight.
​But them despise who're soon defeat, And with a simple face give way To a repulse; then, be not blate, Push bauldly on and win the day.
These maidens, innocently young, Say aften what they never mean; Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, But tent the language of their een; If these agree, and she persist To answer all your love with hate, Seek elsewhere to be better blest, And let her sigh when 'tis too late.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Deil tak' the wars

Deil tak' the wars.
[The fine old Scotch air that goes by this name will be found in Playford's collection of Scotch tunes published in 1693. The words are supposed to be by Tom D'Urfey. They appear in the first edition of his "Pills to Purge Melancholy".]
Deil tak' the wars that hurried Billy from me, Who to love me just had sworn; They made him captain sure to undo me: Woe's me he'll ne'er return. A thousand loons abroad will fight him, He from thousands ne'er will run, Day and night I did invite him, To stay at home from sword and gun. I us'd alluring graces, With muckle kind embraces, Now sighing, then crying, tears dropping fall; And had he my soft arms Preferr'd to war's alarms, My love grown mad, all for my bonnie lad, I fear in my fit I had granted all.
I wash'd and I patch'd, to mak' me look provoking, Snares that they told me would catch the men, And on my head a huge commode sat poking, Which made me show as tall again; For a new gown too I paid muckle money, Which with golden flow'rs did shine; My love well might think me gay and bonny, No Scots lass was e'er so fine. My petticoat I spotted, Fringe too with thread I knotted, Lace shoes, and silk hose, garter full over knee; But oh! the fatal thought, To Billy these are nought; Who rode to town, and rifled with dragoons, When he, silly loon, might have plunder'd me.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dainty Davie

Dainty Davie.
[The following song, which Burns sent to Thomson's collection, was merely an improvement and extension of a song which he had previously contributed to Johnson's Museum, called "The Gardener wi' his paidle." "Dainty Davie," says Allan Cunningham, "is the name of an old merry sang from which Burns has borrowed nothing save the title and the measure. It relates the adventure of David Williamson, a preacher of the days of the covenant: he was pursued by Dalzell's dragoons, and seeking a refuge in the house of Cherrytrees, the devout lady put the man of God into a bed beside her daughter, to hide him from the men of Belial. The return which the reverend gentleman made for this is set forth very graphically in the old verses. The young lady sings—
'Being pursued by a dragoon, Within my bed he was laid down, And weel I wat he was worth his room, My douce, my dainty Davie!'"
"The tune of Dainty Davie," says Mr. Stenhouse, "is inserted in Playford's Dancing Master, first published in 1657. It is clear, therefore, that there was a song under this title, long before the well-known story about the Rev. David Williamson and the daughter of the laird of Cherrytrees."]
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay green birken bowers, And now come in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; There I'll spend the day wi' you, My ain dear dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa', The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A-wandering wi' my Davie.
When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then through the dews I will repair, To meet my faithfu' Davie.
When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, I'll flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my dainty Davie.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Deluded Swain

Deluded Swain.
[Written by Burns, for Thomson's collection, to the tune of "The Collier's bonnie lassie."]
Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee Is but a fairy treasure— Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, The clouds' uncertain motion, They are but types of woman.
O! art thou not ashamed To doat upon a feature? If man thou wouldst be named, Despise the silly creature.
Go, find an honest fellow; Good claret set before thee: Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Despairing Mary

Despairing Mary.
[Tannahill.—Set to music by R. A. Smith.—Smith says, "The music published with this song was originally composed to other words, but Tannihill took a fancy to the air, and immediately wrote 'Despairing Mary' for it, which, being the better song, was adopted."]
"Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow? See, a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw; Blythe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of Jura, Blythe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw." "How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure? Summer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane; Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure, Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.
"This 'kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token, Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake! I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken, Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break: Sighing for him, I lie down in the e'ening, Sighing for him, I awake in the morn; Spent are my days a' in secret repining, Peace to this bosom can never return.
"Oft have we wander'd in sweetest retirement, Telling our loves 'neath the moon's silint beam, Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment, But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing dream. Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me, Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown! Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me, Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown!"
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dinna think, bonnie lassie

Dinna think, bonnie lassie.
[This song has always been published without an author's name, but according to Mr. Stenhouse, the erudite annotator in Johnson's Museum, Hector Macneill wrote the whole of it, except the last verse, which was written by Mr. John Hamilton, music-seller in Edinburgh. Hamilton issued it with his own addition, as a sheet song. Macneill did not include it among his poetical works. The song is adapted to a dancing tune called "Clunie's Reel." Elsewhere, the tune is called "The smith's a gallant fireman." It may be mentioned that Miss Blamire has a song which opens similarly to the present, and Mr. Maxwell, the editor of her Poetical Works, conjectures, with every appearance of probability, that Macneill may have seen Miss Blamire's verses.]
O dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; I'll tak' a stick into my hand, and come again and see thee.
Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang; dark's the night and eerie; Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang; dark's the night and eerie; Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang; dark's the night and eerie; O stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me.
It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I'll come again and see thee.
Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me; Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me; When a' the lave are sound asleep, I am dull and eerie; And a' the lee-lang night I'm sad, wi' thinking on my dearie.
O dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Whene'er the sun gaes out o' sight, I'll come again and see thee.
Waves are rising o'er the sea; winds blaw loud and fear me; Waves are rising o'er the sea; winds blaw loud and fear me; While the winds and waves do roar, I am wae and drearie, And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye winna gang and leave me.
O never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee; Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee; Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee; E'en let the world gang as it will, I'll stay at hame and cheer thee.
Frae his hand he coost his stick; I winna gang and leave thee; Threw his plaid into the neuk; never can I grieve thee; Drew his boots, and flang them by; cried, My lass, be cheerie; I'll kiss the tear frae aff thy cheek, and never leave my dearie.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lasses a' leugh

The Lasses a’ leugh.
[Air, "Kist yestreen."—The first stanza of this song was a fragment which Tannahill left: the rest was added by Alex. Rodger.]
The lasses a' leugh, and the carlin flate, But Maggie was sitting fu' ourie and blate, The auld silly gawkie, she couldna contain, How brawly she was kist yestreen; Kist yestreen, kist yestreen, How brawly she was kist yestreen; She blethered it round to her fae an' her freen, How brawly she was kist yestreen.
She loosed the white napkin frae 'bout her dun neck, An' cried, The big sorrow tak' lang Geordie Fleck! D'ye see what a scart I gat frae a preen, By his towsling an' kissing at me yestreen; At me yestreen, at me yestreen. By his towsling an' kissing at me yestreen; I canna conceive what the fallow could mean, By his kissing sae meikle at me yestreen.
Then she pu'd up her sleeve an' shawed a blae mark, Quo' she, I gat that frae young Davy our clark, But the creature had surely forgat himsel' clean, Then he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen, For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen, When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen; I wonder what keepit my nails frae his een, When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen.
Then she held up her cheek, an' cried. Foul fa' the laird, Just leuk what I gat wi' his black birsie beard,
The vile filthy body! was e'er the like seen? To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen; For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen; To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen, I'm sure that nae woman o' judgment need green To be rubbit, like me, for a kiss yestreen. ​Syne she tald what grand offers she aften had had, But wad she tak' a man?—na, she wasna sae mad, For the hale o' the sex she cared na a preen, An' she hated the way she was kissed yestreen; Kist yestreen, kist yestreen; She hated the way she was kist yestreen; 'Twas a mercy that naithing mair serious had been, For it's dangerous whiles to be kissed at e'en.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lassie by the Loch

The Lassie by the Loch.
[The author of this song is Robt. Carmichael, who served for several years in the Mediterranean, on board H. M. ship Unite, with Capt. Charles Gray, author of "Lays and Lyrics."—Air, "Wat ye wha I met yestreen?"]
Frae Caledonia's climes afar, Upon the rough an' roaring main, I sail'd, marine, in man-o'-war, At last, on leave, came home again. As I ilk youthfu' haunt did pass, An' near my native village drew; I little thought upon the lass— That now dwells by the loch sae blue. ​I heard sweet music's melting din, And merry young folks' gigglin glee; Then kindly I was usher'd in, As if they'd met to welcome me. A lassie there fu' featly danced, And through the reel sae lichtly flew; In raptures she my soul entranced— The lassie by the loch sae blue.
I saw, while gazing on her face, The rose an' lily close allied; And on ilk bloomin' cheek could trace, The scented apple's sunny side. Her lips were like the red-rose bud, Before the sun has sipp'd its dew; Her bosom like the snawy clud Reflected in the loch sae blue.
Soon to her mither's house I went, An' courted her wi' love sincere; To marry me she ga'e consent, When o' the navy I was clear. That nane but she should be my wife, I pledged wi' her my written voo; Meanwhile, she left the shores o' Fife To dwell beside the loch sae blue.
It wasna lang ere I was free, For peace to Europe soon return'd; An' my dear destined bride to see, Wi' fervent glow my bosom burn'd. I sought my native land—I found My lassie to her pledge was true; An' soon by Hymen's bands was bound To Bessie—by the loch sae blue.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Light of the Moon

The Light of the Moon.
[Rev. John Logan.]
The day is departed, and round from the cloud The moon in her beauty appears; The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud The music of love in our ears. Maria, appear! now the season so sweet With the beat of the heart is in tune; The time is so tender for lovers to meet Alone by the light of the moon.
I cannot when present unfold what I feel: I sigh—can a lover do more? Her name to the shepherds I never reveal, Yet I think of her all the day o'er. Maria, my love! do you long for the grove? Do you sigh for an interview soon? Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove Alone by the light of the moon?
Your name from the shepherds whenever I hear My bosom is all in a glow; Your voice, when it vibrates so sweet through mine ear, My heart thrills—my eyes overflow. Ye powers of the sky, will your bounty divine Indulge a fond lover his boon? Shall heart spring to heart, and Maria be mine, Alone by the light of the moon?
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lomond

The Lomond.
[Wm. Chalmers.]
"O, lassie, wilt thou go To the Lomond wi' me, The wild thyme's in bloom, And the flow'r's on the lea; Wilt thou go, my dearest love? I will ever constant prove, I'll range each hill and grove On the Lomond wi' thee."
"O young men are fickle, Nor trusted to be, And many a native gem Shines lair on the lea. Thou may see some lovely flower Of a more attractive power, And may take her to thy bower, On the Lomond wi' thee."
"The hynd shall forsake, On the mountain, the doe, The stream of the fountain Shall cease for to flow; Ben-Lomond shall bend His high brow to the sea, Ere I take to my bower, Any flower, love, but thee."
She's taken her mantle, He's taken his plaid; He coft her a ring, And he made her his bride: They're far o'er yon hills To spend their happy days, And range the woody glens 'Mang the Lomond braes.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lawlands of Holland

The Lawlands of Holland.
[Marshall's tune, called "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey," composed for the song "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw," is formed on the fine old air of "The Lawlands of Holland." The words themselves are said to be the lamentation of a young widow in Galloway, whose husband was drowned in a voyage to Holland, about the beginning of the last century.]
The luve that I had chosen, Was to my heart's content, The saut sea will be frozen Before that I repent; Repent it will I never; Until the day I dee, Tho' the lawlands o' Holland Ha'e twined my luve and me.
My luve lies in the salt sea, And I am on the side, Enough to break a young thing's heart Wha lately was a bride; Wha lately was a bonnie bride, And pleasure in her e'e; But the lawlands o' Holland Ha'e twined my luve and me.
My luve he built a bonnie ship, And sent her to the sea, Wi' seven score brave mariners To bear her companie; Threescore gaed to the bottom, And threescore died at sea, And the lawlands o' Holland Ha'e twined my love and me.
My luve has built anither ship, And sent her to the main, He had but twenty mariners, And a' to bring her hame; The stormy clouds did roar again, The raging waves did rout, And my luve, and his bonnie ship, Turn'd widdershins about!
There shall nae mantle cross my back, Nae comb come in my hair, Neither sal coal or candle light, Shine in my bowit mair; Nor sal I ha'e anither luve, Until the day I dee, I never lo'ed a luve but ane, And he's drown'd in the sea.
O, haud your tongue, my daughter dear, Be still, and be content, There are mair lads in Galloway, Ye need nae sair lament. O! there is nane in Galloway, There 's nane at a' for me, For I never lov'd a lad but ane, And he 's drown'd in the sea.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Linnet

The Linnet.
[Robert Allan of Kilbarchan.— Air, "M'Gilchrist's Lament."]
Chaunt no more thy roundelay, Lovely minstrel of the grove; Charm no more the hours away With thy artless tale of love. Chaunt no more thy roundelay. Sad it steals upon mine ear; Leave, O leave thy leafy spray, Till the smiling morn appear.
Light of heart, thou quit'st thy song, As the welkin's shadows lour, Whilst the beetle wheels along, Humming to the twilight hour. Not like thee, I quit the scene To enjoy night's balmy dream; Not like thee, I wake again, Smiling with the morning beam.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lass of Pittenweem

The Lass of Pittenweem.
[Captain Charles Gray.—Air, "Johnnie's grey breeks."]
The sun looked through an evening cloud, His golden rays glanced o'er the plain; The lark upsprung, and caroll'd loud Her vesper hymn of sweetest strain. Far in the east the rainbow glow'd In painted lines of liquid light; Now all its vivid colours show'd— Wax'd faint—then vanish'd from the sight!
As forth I walked, in pensive mood, Down by yon ancient abbey wall, Gay spring her vesture had renew'd, And loud was heard the partridge' call; The blackbird's song rang through the wood, Rich in the red sun's parting gleam; When fair before me, smiling, stood The lovely lass of Pittenweem.
O I have wandered far and wide, And ladies seen 'neath brighter skies, Where trees shoot up in balmy pride, And golden domes and spires arise;— But here is one to my surprise, Sweet aa a youthful poet's dream; With love enthroned in her dark eyes— The lovely lass of Pittenweem!
"Where dost thou wander, charming maid, Now evening's shades begin to fall?"— "To view fair nature's face," she said. "For nature's charms are free to all!"— "Speak ever thus in nature's praise; Thou giv'st to me a darling theme, On thee I'll lavish all my lays, Thou lovely lass of Pittenweem!"
There is a magic charm in youth, By which the heart of age is won; That charm is innocence and truth, And beauty is its summer sun! Long may it shine on that fair face, Where rosy health and pleasure beam; Long lend its magic spell to grace The lovely lass of Pittenweem.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lea Rig

The Lea Rig.
[The first two stanzas of this song are by the ill-fated Robert Fergusson: the others are by the late Mr. William Reid, bookseller in Glasgow, who was sometimes fortunate in the additions he made to popular ditties.]
Will ye gang o'er the lee rig, My ain kind dearie, O; And cuddle there fu' kindly, Wi' me, my kind dearie, O! At thorny bush, or birken tree, We'll daff, and never weary, O; They'll scug ill een frae you and me, My ain kind dearie, O. ​Nae herds wi' kent or colly there, Shall ever come to fear ye, O; Bat laverocks whistling in the air Shall woo, like me, their dearie, O. While ithers herd their lambs and ewes, And toil for warld's gear, my jo, Upon the lee my pleasure grows Wi' thee, my kind dearie, O.
At gloamin', if my lane I be, Oh, but I'm wondrous eerie, O: And mony a heavy sigh I gi'e, When absent frae my dearie, O; But seated 'neath the milk-white thorn, In ev'ning fair and clearie, O, Enraptur'd, a' my cares I scorn, When wi' my kind dearie, O.
Whare through the birks the burnie rows, Aft ha'e I sat fu' cheerie, O, Upon the bonnie greensward howes, Wi' thee, my kind dearie, O. I've courted till I've heard the craw Of honest Chanticleerie, O, Yet never miss'd my sleep ava, Whan wi' my kind dearie, O.
For though the night were ne'er sae dark, And I were ne'er sae weary, O, I'd meet thee on the lea rig, My ain kind dearie, O. While in this weary warld of wae, This wilderness sae dreary, O, What makes me blythe, and keeps me sae? 'Tis thee, my kind dearie, O.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Lover's Salute

The Lover's Salute.
[Burns, while he admired the air of "Deil tak' the wars," thought the words of Tom D'Urfey a poor imitation of Scottish song, as indeed they are, and wrote the following stanzas to the same tune, for Thomson's collection. The heroine was Miss Philadelphia Macmurdo.]
Sleep'st thou or wak'st thou, fairest creature? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears of joy: Now through the leafy woods, And by the reeking floods, Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray; The lintwhite in his bower Chants o'er the breathing flower; The laverock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs of joy, While the sun and thou arise, to bless the day.
Phœbus gilding the brow o' morning, Banishes ilka darksome shade, Nature gladdening and adorning; Such to me my lovely maid. When absent frae my fair, The murky shades o' care With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; But when, in beauty's light, She meets my ravished sight, When through my very heart Her beaming glories dart; 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, to joy.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Maid's Remonstrance

The Maid's Remonstrance.
[Thomas Campbell.]
Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a love-torn heart pursuing,- Read you not the wrongs you're doing, In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing, Wed—or cease to woo.
Rivals banish'd, bosoms plighted, Still our days are disunited, Now the lamp of hope is lighted, Now half quench'd appears, Damp'd, and wavering, and benighted, 'Midst my sighs and tears.
Charms you call your dearest blessing, Lips that thrill at your caressing, Eyes a mutual soul confessing, Soon you'll make them grow Dim, and worthless your possessing, Not with age but woe.
# The Chinese Jewel

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Extracted from Detective Story magazine, 22 Jan 1921, pp. 3–47. # Billy Steele
The Chinese Jewel
By Jackson Gregory
Author of “A Forced Acceptance,” etc.
* I. when evidence looks black 3
* II. the show-down 7
* III. marvella and the jewel 10
* IV. a new ally 12
* V. the pride of burma 18
* VI. tightening the cord 21
* VII. a ride in the dark 24
* VIII. strict secrecy 28
* IX. through the trapdoor 30
* X. the lure 34
* XI. at the crossroads 37
* XII. the scuffle 39
* XIII. failure and success 42
* XIV. readjustments 47
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1943, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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