Robert Burns

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.

Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!

Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For its like a baumy kiss o'er her sweet read more

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For its like a baumy kiss o'er her sweet bonnie mou'!