OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bonnie Ann

Bonnie Ann.
[From "Odes and Sonnets, with other Poems, Scotch as well as English. By the Rev. C. Lessingham Smith, M.A. Rector of Little Caufield, Essex."]
I doutna whiles but I could wale A lass wi' mair o' gowd and lan'; But no a lass in a' the vale I lo'e sae weel as bonnie Ann.
Her een sae sparklin' and sae blue, Aye speak o' mirth and love to me; An' then her sweet wee rosy mou'— Just for ae kiss what wad I gi'e?
Her daddie 's aye apreachin' o't That she's ower young as yet, ye ken; But guidness guide us! that 's a faut That ilka day an' hour maun men'.
She's seen the flowers o' saxteen springs, Hersel' the sweetest flower o' a'! An' a' thing on her guidin' hings In barn and byre, in house and ha'.
O' saxty nowt she's aye the rule; O' sheep and kye twa hunder fu', Then whar, I'se like to ken, the fule Wad threip she's no a woman nou?
But I maun bide, as weil's I may, To please her daddie, honest man! Though sair I lang for that blythe day When I'm to wed my bonnie Ann.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Boat Song

Boat Song.
[From "The Lady of the Lake," by Sir Walter Scott. This may be appropriately sung to the tune of "The Banks of the Devon."]
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances! Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine! Long may the Tree, in his banner that glances. Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! ​Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! iero!"
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moor'd in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him, the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise agen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid. Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear agen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine! O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreath'd in a garland around him to twine! O! that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deep-most glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bonnie Aggie Lang

Bonnie Aggie Lang.
[James Macdonald.—Here first printed. Music by Mr. James Ferguson, Edinburgh.]
Oh ere we part, my heart leaps hie, to sing ae bonnie sang, About my ain sweet lady-love, my darling Aggie Lang; It is na that her cheeks are like the blooming damask rose, It is na that her brow is white as stainless Alpine snows, It is na that her locks are black as ony raven's wing, Nor is't her e'e o' winning glee, that mak's me fondly sing.
But oh! her heart's a bonnie well that gushes fresh an' free O' maiden love, an' happiness, and a' that sweet can be; Though saft the sang o' simmer winds—the warbling o' the stream, The carolling o' joyous birds—the murmur o' a dream,— I'd rather hear ae gentle word frae Aggie's angel tongue, For weel I ken her heart is mine,—the fountain whar it sprung.
Yestreen I met her in a glen about the gloamin' hour, The moon was rising o'er the trees, the dew begemm'd ilk flouir, The weary winds were hush'd asleep, an' no a sough cam' nigh, E'en frae the waukrife stream that ran, in silver glintin' by: I pressed her milkwhite han' in mine—she smil'd as angels smile, But ah! frae me, her tale o' love, this warld maunna wile.
I saw the silver light o' heaven fa' on her bonnie brow, An' glitter on the hinney blabs upon her cherry mou'; I saw the lily moonbeams steal the redness o' the rose, An' sleep upon her downy cheek in beautiful repose.— The moon rose high, the stream gaed by, but aye she smiled on me, An' what she wadna breathe in words she tauld it wi' her e'e.
I've sat within a palace hall amid the grand an' gay, I've listen'd to the carnival o' merry birds in May, I've been in joyous companies—the wale o' mirth an' glee, An' danced in nature's fairy bowers by mountain, lake, and lea. But never has this heart o' mine career'd in purer pride, As in that moonlit glen an' bower, wi' Aggie by my side.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bonnie Chirsty

Bonnie Chirsty.
[This song is by Allan Ramsay. It was probably a favourite of the author's, as it is placed first in his Tea Table Miscellany.]
How sweetly smells the simmer green; Sweet taste the peach and cherry; Painting and order please our een, And claret makes us merry: But finest colours, fruits and flowers, And wine, though I be thirsty, Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers, Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty.
When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park, No natural beauty wanting; How lightsome is't to hear the lark, And birds in concert chanting! But if my Chirsty tunes her voice, I'm rapt in admiration; My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice, And drap the haill creation.
Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance, I take the happy omen, And aften mint to make advance, Hoping she'll prove a woman. But, dubious of my ain desert, My sentiments I smother, Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart, For fear she love another. ​Thus sang blate Edie by a burn, His Chirsty did o'er-hear him; She doughtna let her lover mourn; But, ere he wist, drew near him. She spak' her favour wi' a look, Which left nae room to doubt her: He wisely this white minute took, And flang his arms about her.
My Chirsty! witness, bonny stream, Sic joys frae tears arising! I wish this may na be a dream O love the maist surprising! Time was too precious now for tauk, This point of a' his wishes He wad na wi' set speeches bauk, But wair'd it a' on kisses.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bonnie Dundee

Bonnie Dundee.
[The tune called "Bonnie Dundee" is of undoubted antiquity, as it is to be found in the Skene MS. collection of music in the library of the Faculty of Advocates, Edinburgh, a collection made in the reign of James VI., most of it between the years 1615 and 1620, and some of it earlier. It is there entitled "Adew, Dundee," and the ancient version of the tune is pronounced by Mr. Dauney (the editor of the Skene MS.) to be superior to the modern. The old words are lost. The following was the opening of an old song to the tune, but not, it is supposed, the original song, which must have been one of pathos and sentiment:
O, where did ye get that hauver-meal bannock?— O, silly blind body, O, dinna ye see? I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee.
To these four lines Burns added twelve, for Johnson's Museum. In the following version of the song, Burns's twelve lines are retained, viz. the second four and the last eight. We cannot say who wrote the intermediate eight lines. The tune of "Bonnie Dundee" was adopted by Gay for one of his songs in "The Beggar's Opera," beginning "The charge is prepar'd, the lawyers are met." It is also familiar to modern ears as being the air of Macneill's popular song, "Saw ye my wee thing?"]
O whare gat ye that bonnie blue bonnet? O what makes them aye put the question to me? I gat it frae a bonnie Scots callan, Atween St. Johnstoun and bonnie Dundee. O gin I saw the laddie that ga'e me't! Aft has he doudl'd me upon his knee; May heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie And send him safe hame to his baby and me. ​My heart has nae room when I think on my laddie, His dear rosy haffets bring tears to my e'e— But, O! he's awa', and I dinna ken whar he's— Gin we could ance meet we'll ne'er part till we die, O light be the breezes around him saft blawin'; And o'er him sweet simmer still blink bonnilie, And the rich dews o' plenty, around him wide fa'in, Prevent a' his fears for my baby and me!
My blessings upon that sweet wee lippie! My blessings upon that bonnie ee-brie Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me. But I'll big a bower on yen green bank sae bonnie, That's lav'd by the waters o' Tay wimplin' clear, And deed thee in tartans, my wee smiling Johnnie, And make thee a man like thy daddie dear.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bonnie Jean 1

Bonnie Jean.
[Tune, "Ettrick banks."]
See spring her graces wild disclose, Birds sweetly chant on ilka spray; 'Mang broomy knowes the shepherd goes, While sportive lambkins round him play. Enraptured now I take my way, While joy enlivens a' the scene; Down by yon shaded stream I stray, To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean.
Ye Kellburn groves, by spring attired, Where zephyrs sport amang the flowers, Your fairy scenes I've aft admired, While jocund pass'd the sunny hours. But doubly happy in your bowers, When fragrance scents the devry e'en, I wander whare your streamlet pours, To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean.
Let grandeur rear her lofty dome, Let mad ambition kingdoms spoil, Through foreign lands let avarice roam, An' for her prize unceasing toil; Give me fair nature's vernal smile, The shelter'd grove, and daisied green, I'll happy tread my native soil, To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Bleaching her claes

Bleaching her claes.
[George Murray.—Air, "Ballenden Braes."—Once printed in Upper Canada.]
One morning I dander'd, (I needna say when.) Whaur a wee bickering burnie rins through a low glen: I met a young lassie upon the green braes, Was herding her lammies and bleaching her claes.
The smile on her cheek had the rose's bright hue, Her complexion was fair as the fresh fa'in' dew, Her yellow hair stream'd like the sun's parting rays, And her breath was as sweet as her new-water'd' claes.
I said, "Lovely maiden, how caller the air! The season how pleasant, the rroming how fair! The fields are a' flowery, the flowers are a' dew, And if earth hae aught fairier, sweet girl, it is you!"
She cried, "Let me be; I maun notice my claes, And canna mind a' thing that ilka ane says, My mither aye tauld me—and likely she'll ken— That there's fouth o'fine tales, but nae faith in young men."
"O dinna leuk blate, though your mither may scauld; Her heart-blood is daiver't, she's doitet and auld, And say, bonnie lassie, what ills ye could dree Frae the laddie that loves ye, and loves nane but thee?"
I kiss'd her, I press'd her, mair tender she grew, And sank in my arms, crying, "Laddie be true!" Though pride wad ha'e frownit, and art made a phrase, The lassie had nane that was bleaching her claes.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blink o'er the burn

Blink o'er the burn.
["Blink o'er the burn, sweet Betty," is the name of an old Scottish tune to which we have different words. There must have been an old English song with a similar burthen, as the following verse is quoted in King Lear, Act iii. Scene vi.
"Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me: Her boat hath a leak And she must not speak, Why she dares not come over to thee."
We give here two sets of the old words, the first on the authority of Burns, the second on that of Motherwell.]
I.
Blink o'er the burn, sweet Betty; It is a cauld winter night,— It rains, it hails, and it thunders, The moon she gi'es nae light. It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty That ever I tint my way: O lassie, let me creep ayont thee, Until it be break o' day.
It's Betty shall bake my bread, And Betty shall brew my ale; And Betty shall be my love, When I come over the dale. Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, Blink over the burn to me; And while I ha'e life, my dear lassie, My ain sweet Betty thou's be.
II.
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, Blink over the burn to me; I would gi'e a' I had in the warld But to be a widow for thee.
In summer I mawed my meadow, In hairst I shure my corn, In winter I married a widow, I wish she was dead the morn. Blink, &c.
The youth he was wamphlin' and wandy The lassie was quite fu' o' glee, And aye as she cried to the laddie, Come down bonnie Tweedside to me. Blink, &c.
Come meet me again ne'er to sever, Come meet whare nae body can see, I canna think ye're a deceiver, And mean but to lichtlie me. Blink, &c
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blythe are we set

Blythe are we set.
[Written by Ebenezer Picken, a native of Paisley, whose poems were published at Edinburgh in 1813, in two small vols. He died in 1815 or 1816.]
Blythe are we set wi' ither; Fling care ayont the moon; Nae sae aft we meet thegither! Wha wad think o' parting soon? Though snaw bends down the forest trees, And burn and river cease to flow; Though nature's tide has shor'd to freeze, And winter nithers a' below. Blythe are we, &c.
Now, round the ingle cheerly met, We'll scog the blast and dread nae harm, Wi' jaws o' toddy reeking het, We'll keep the genial current warm. ​The friendly crack, the cheerfu' sang, Shall cheat the happy hours awa', Gar pleasure reign the e'ening lang, And laugh at biting frost and snaw. Blythe are we, &c.
The cares that cluster round the heart, And gar the bosom stound wi' pain, Shall get a fright afore we part, Will gar them fear to come again. Then, fill about, my winsome chiels, The sparkling glass will banish pine: Nae pain the happy bosom feels, Sae free o' care as yours and mine. Blythe are we, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blue-eyed Anne 1

Blue-eyed Anne.
[Written by the celebrated Dr. Smollett. The subject of these verses is thought to have been Miss Anne Lascelles, whom the author met with in the West Indies, and afterwards made his wife]
When the rough north forgets to howl, And ocean's billows cease to roll; When Lybian sands are bound in frost, And cold to Nova Zembla's lost; When heavenly bodies cease to move, My blue-eyed Anne I'll cease to love.
No more shall flowers the meads adorn, Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn, Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring, Nor parching heats the dog-star bring, Nor laughing lilies paint the grove, When blue-eyed Anne I cease to love.
No more shall joy in hope be found, Nor pleasures dance their frolic round, Nor love's light god inhabit earth, Nor beauty give the passion birth, Nor heat to summer-sunshine cleave, When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive.
When rolling seasons cease to change, Inconstancy forgets to range; When lavish May no more shall bloom, Nor gardens yield a rich perfume, When nature from her sphere shall start, I'll tear my Nanny from my heart.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blackford Hill

Blackford Hill.
The man wha lues fair nature's charms, Let him gae to Blackford hill; And wander there amang the craigs, Or down aside the rill; That murmuring through the peblis plays, And banks whar daisies spring; While, frae ilk bush and tree, the birds In sweetest concert sing.
The lintie the sharp treble sound; The lav'rock tenor plays; The blackbird and the mavis join To form a solemn base; Sweet echo the loud air repeats, Till a' the valley rings: While odorous scents the westlin' wind Frae thousand wild flowers brings.
The hermitage aside the burn In shady covert lies, Frae pride and folly's noisy rounds Fit refuge for the wise; Wha there may study as they list, And pleasures taste at will, Yet never leave the varied bounds Of bonnie Blackford hill.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blue-e'ed Mary

Blue-e’ed Mary.
[Alexander Laing. Written in 1818. Tune, "Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue."]
My only love I canna rue, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O, I ne'er will break the bosom vow I've plighted to my dearie, O. A fairer form I canna see, A fairer face there canna be, Nane bears a love sae leal as thee, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O.
I'll wait thee in the greenwood glen, Amang the braes sae briery, O, For there the Noran leaps the linn, An' tells me of my dearie, O. Thy hair's, the glossy falling stream, Thy brow, the pure, the milky feam, Thy cheeks, the dimpling eddies seem— My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O.
I ne'er had love for ane but thee Amang the maids sae cheery, O; You ne'er lov'd ane but only me, My ain, my dearest dearie, O. My morn o' love—the morn o' thine, An' a' our happy days sinsyne, The chords o' mem'ry canna tyne, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O.
While morning lifts his gowden eye, An' glints o'er a' sae cheerie, O; While e'ening veils the face o' day, An' starnies gild the cary, O; My only love—my bosom vow— My plighted faith I'll never rue, But live in love an' bliss wi' you, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blue-eyed Anne 2

Blue-eyed Anne.
[Written by Angus Fletcher, among the ruins of Dunoon Castle, which command a distant view of Montstuart in the Isle of Bute. This song appeared first in a Greenock Newspaper, January 1806, but is here given with the author's latest corrections. It was written to the air of "Miss Forbes' farewell to Banff," and has also been set to music of its own by an Edinburgh publisher, who calls the tune "The Flower of Dunoon."]
Nine times bleak winter's cranreuch snell Despoiled o' bloom the daisied lea; And nine times has the primrose pale Spread round the dells of Coir-in-t-shee, Since, where Montstuart's dusky grove Waves o'er yon foaming distant sea, I blushing own'd my youthful love, And Blue-eyed Anne reproved na me.
Wha then wad think our joys could fade? Love's dearest pleasures a' we knew; And not a cloud was seen to shade The blissful scenes young fancy drew But scowling tempests soon o'ercast Our azure skies and summer sea— I've borne misfortune's rudest blast, Yet Blue-eyed Anne still smiles on me. ​Now safe retired, no more I'll stray Ambition's faithless path alang, But calmly spend the careless day Dunoon's green winding vales amang: And aft I'll climb this hoary pile, When spring revives each flower and tree, To view yon sweet sequester'd isle, Whare Blue-eyed Anne first smiled on me.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Blythe and cheerie

Blythe and cheerie.
[Written by James Hogg to the the tune of "Andro and his cutty gun." Some copies of this song are double the length of what is here given, but the curtailed Tersion is much the more preferable.]
On Ettrick clear there grows a brier, An' monie a bonnie bloomin' shaw; But Peggy's grown the fairest flower The braes o' Ettrick ever saw. Her cheek is like the woodland rose; Her e'e the violet set wi' dew; The liy's fair without compare, Yet in her bosom tines its hue.
Had I her hame at my wee house, That stands aneath yon mountain high, To help me wi' the kye an' ewes, An' in my arms at e'ening lie; O sae blythe! an' O sae cheery! O sae happy we wad be! The lammie to the ewe is dear, But Peggy's dearer far to me.
# The Ballads of Marko Kraljević

* related authors: Marko Mrnjavčević.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
THE BALLADS OF MARKO KRALJEVIĆ
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
C. F. CLAY, Manager LONDON: FETTER LANE, E.C. 4
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
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TORONTO: THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TOKYO: MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
MARKO AND SHARATZ
THE BALLADS OF MARKO KRALJEVIĆ
TRANSLATED BY D. H. LOW
FORMERLY LECTURER IN ENGLISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BELGRADE
CAMBRIDGE AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 1922
TO MY WIFE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PLATE
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Ballads of Marko Kraljević/Marko's Ploughing

MARKO'S PLOUGHING
Kraljević Marko sat at wine,
With the aged Jevrosima his mother.
And when they had enough drunken,
Marko's mother spake to him, saying:
"O my son, Kraljevic Marko,
Cease, my son, from thy adventures, For evil may bring no good thing with it,
And it wearies thine aged mother, That she must ever be washing bloody garments.
So take thou plough and oxen,10 Plough hill and valley, Then sow, my son, fair wheat, And thus shalt thou feed both thee and me."
Marko hearkened unto his mother, He took plough and oxen, But he ploughed not hill nor valley, But he ploughed the Sultan's highway.
And there passed that way Turkish janissaries, Having three charges of gold with them, And they said to Kraljević Marko:20 "Go to, Marko, plough not the highway!"
"Go to, Turks," quoth he, "spoil not my ploughing!" "Go to, Marko, plough not the highway!"
"Go to, Turks, spoil not my ploughing!"
And when it wearied Marko of words, He swung plough and oxen on high, And slew therewith the Turkish janissaries.
Then he took the three charges of gold, And brought them to his mother,
"Behold," quoth he, "what I have ploughed for thee this day."30
# The Ballade of the Automobile

The
Ballade of the Automobile
When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel And the wind is moist with the breath of brine And our laughter tells of oar perfect weal, We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But if, automobiling, my woes combine And fuel gives out in my road-machine And it's sixteen miles to that home of mine— Then ho! for a gallon of gasoline!
When our coach rides smoothly on iron-shod wheel With a deft touch guiding each taut drawn line And the inn ahead holds a royal meal, We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But when, on some long and steep incline, In a manner entirely unforeseen. The motor stops with a last sad whine— Then ho! for a gallon of gasoline!
When the air is crisp and the brooks congeal And oar sleigh glides on with a speed divine While the gay bells echo with peal on peal, We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But when, with perverseness most condign, In the same harsh snowstorm, cold and keen, My auto stops at the six-mile sign— Then ho! for a gallon of gasoline!
ENVOY When Yacht or Coach Club fellows dim We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But when Automobile Clubmen convene Then ho! for a gallon of gasoline!
ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
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 1937, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 86 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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Ballads of Marko Kraljević/Bibliography

BIBLIOGRAPHY
These three translations of Herder's are to be found in vol. xxv of the "Sämtliche Werke."
A new and very greatly enlarged edition was published in Vienna between the years 1841-1862. This was followed by the Belgrade edition which was begun in 1887 and completed in 1896. Vol. ii, containing the Marko cycle and many other epic ballads, has been reprinted several times.
Jacob Grimm wrote a German translation of this Grammar. (Leipzig and Berlin, 1824.) He contributed also an admirable "Vorrede" which is reprinted in the "Kleinere Schriften," vol. viii. pp. 96-129.
The Marko cycle, as a whole, has never been translated into English, but the following books contain renderings of twelve of the ballads as given in the second volume of Vuk's collection:
* 1. The Moorish King's Daughter.
* 2. Marko and the Turks.
* 3. Death of Kralevich Marko. (All in unrhymed decasyllabics.)
* 1. Oorosh and Marko Kralyevich.
* 2. The Royal Prince Marko and the Veela.
* 3. Kralyevich Marko and Moossa Kessejiya.
* 4. How Marko abolished the wedding-tax. (All in prose.)
* 1. The Marriage of King Voukashin.
* 2. Prince Marko tells whose the Empire shall be.
* 3. Prince Marko and a Moorish Chieftain.
* 4. Prince Marko abolishes the wedding-tax.
* 5. Prince Marko and Bogdan the Bully.
* 6. Prince Marko and General Voutcha.
* 7. Prince Marko's wedding-procession.
* 8. Prince Marko and the Moorish Princess.
* 9. Prince Marko and the Veela.
* 10. Prince Marko and the Turkish huntsmen.
* 11. Prince Marko and Moussa Kessedjiya.
* 12. The Death of Prince Marko. (All in prose.)
# The Book of Martyrs

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Book of Martyrs."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Book of Martyrs, a poem by Emily Dickinson
* The Book of Martyrs, an essay by John Foxe