BANNOCKBURN

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY

ROBERT BURNS

COTS, wha ha'e 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 lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him on wi' 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!

CHLOE

ROBERT BURNS

T was the charming month of May,
When all the flowers were fresh and gay,
One morning by the break of day,

The youthful charming Chloe
From peaceful slumbers she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful charming Chloe.

The feather'd people you might see,
Perch'd all around, on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody

They hail the charming Chloe;
Till painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

THE CHILD AND THE PIPER

WILLIAM BLAKE

IPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he, laughing, said to me,

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,

Sing thy songs of happy cheer." So I sang the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read." So he vanish'd from my sight,

And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs, Every child may joy to hear.

825493

A CRADLE SONG

WILLIAM BLAKE

LEEP, sleep, beauty bright,

Dreaming in the joys of night;

Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep

Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast,
Where thy little heart doth rest.

Oh, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.