Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are,. Now, now the mirth comes, Now ponder well, you parents dear, PAGE 305 112 33 Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white, 338 Oh, the sweet contentment, Oh, call my brother back to me, Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, Oh! the days are gone when Beauty bright, Oh where, and oh where, is your Highland laddie O Jenny's a' weet, poor body, 197 179 O swallow, swallow, flying south, Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad,. O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 227 322 262 348 192 85 174 340 253 88 132 286 183 186 O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, 244 Pack clouds, away, and welcome, day, . 12 Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae, 268 271 92 177 She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, . 272 Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, 160 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king, Sweet and low, sweet and low, 344 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 116 Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town, Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 318 125 Tell me, where is fancy bred, The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 91 277 The boy stood on the burning deck, The breaking waves dashed high, The bride cam' out o' the byre, The deil cam' fiddlin' thro' the toun, The feathered songster chanticleer, 161 284 10 The harp that once through Tara's halls, The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great, There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, There is a garden in her face, 91 There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, 272 There was a youth, a well beloved youth, 65 There was three kings into the East, 190 There were three ladies play'd at the ba', 52 There were three sailors of Bristol city, 341 331 304 291 Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 89 When all among the thundering drums, 337 1 When Britain first, at Heaven's command, 131 When cats run home, and light is come, When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come Why does your brand so drop with blood, Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears, Why so pale and wan, fond lover, With fingers weary and worn, You are old, father William, the young man cried, PAGE 149 157 100 278 265 86 180 81 225 115 121 301 125 11 256 |