Robert Burns: Hour

“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!”

“O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wished, the trysted hour.”

“Some wee short hours ayont the twal.”

“That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane.”

“Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.”

“There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.”

“The golden Hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my Dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.”