Songs of Robert Burns

It was a' for our rightfu' King We left fair Scotland's strand, It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain, My Love and Native Land fareweel, For I m

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerful twinkle

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my Luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a'