It was many and many a year ago, In a city by the sea, That a man there lived whom I happened to know By the name of Andrew M'Crie; And this man he slept in another room,...
St. Andrews! not for ever thine shall be Merely the shadow of a mighty name, The remnant only of an ancient fame Which time has crumbled, as thy rocks the sea. ...
In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace-- William Wallace--reared his head. Rowdy Bejant in the college He was styled:...
Ah yes, we know what you're saying, As your eye glances over these Notes: 'What asses are these that are braying With flat and unmusical throats? Who writes such unspeakable patter?...
Sorrow and sin have worked their will For years upon your sovereign face, And yet it keeps a faded trace Of its unequalled beauty still, As ruined sanctuaries hold A crumbled trace of perfect mould...
There is a village in a southern land, By rounded hills closed in on every hand. The streets slope steeply to the market-square, Long lines of white-washed houses, clean and fair,...
Oh, where's the use of having gifts that can't be turned to money? And where's the use of singing, when there's no one wants to hear? It may be one or two will say your songs are sweet as honey,...