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|A simple brief
thought on Scottish
Were the outdated
union not of some very
high value to England and
the English, why would
they fight so to try to
There are only so many
slices to a pie, for one to
have more, another must
Lastly - to those Scottish
"Loyalists" - to whom are
Scots royalty died in the
1700's so it can be no
Scots crown - And
certainly not it appears to
those who came before,
that bled for Scotland
and her freedom !
|In the words
of Burns, as he
wrote from the heart.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slaverie.
Wha would be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flie:
Wha for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Let him follow me.
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!!
Choose your destiny.
|Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Glennifer
The auld castle's turrets are covered wi' snaw
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover
Amang the brume bushes by Stanley green shaw
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie
The Mavis sang sweet frae the green birkin tree
But far to the camp they ha'e marched my dear Johnnie
And now it is winter wi' nature and me
Then ilk thing aroun' us was blythsome and cheery
Then ilk thing aroun' us was bonnie and braw
Now naething is heard but the win' whistlin' dreary
And naething is seen by the wide spreadin' snaw
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me
Yon caul sleety could skiffs alang the bleak mountain
And shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae
While doun the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie an' me
'Tis no' its loud roar, on the wintry win' swellin'
'Tis no' the caul' blast brings the tear to my e'e
For, oh, gin I saw my bonnie Scots callan
The dark days o' winter war simmer tae me