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"There's a bonnie lassie that has bricht een, and there's a wee man in a braw coat, and a big man in a pouthered wig, and there's the shadow of the wuddy, joe, that lies braid across your path. Gie's your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren spae it to ye bonny."
"Whose work is it, think you?" "The work," said I, "of a man who would set the whole world on fire, and only for love." "And when he saw the statly towre Shining baith clere and bricht, Whilk stood abune the jawing wave, Built on a rock of height, "'Says, Row the boat, my mariners, And bring me to the land, For yonder I see my love's castle Close by the saut sea strand." Rough Royal.
"There's a bonnie lassie that has bricht een, and there's a wee man in a braw coat, and a big man in a pouthered wig, and there's the shadow of the wuddy, joe, that lies braid across your path. Gie's your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren spae it to ye bonny."
Elsie's voice blended with the great words, and turning her lustrous eyes full on my face, she murmured "It's a' bricht and blythesome whaur I'm walkin' noo there's no valley here nor nae glen ava, but the way is fu' o' licht and beauty." Her eyes sought her husband's face: "Oh, Donal'! To think we canna walk this way thegither!
Ye can lee doon upon yer back on the turf and look up at the blue sky and the bricht sun, and hear the skylark singing high above ye, or the call o' the auld hoot owl at nicht. I think it's the evenings, when I'm held a prisoner in the city, mak' me lang maist for the country. There's a joy to a country evening. Whiles it's winter. But within it's snug.
There was much philosophy in Mac. He was a kindly man, for a' his quick temper; I never knew a kinder. And he taught me much that's been usefu' to me. He taught me to look for the gude in a' I saw and came in contact wi'. There's a bricht side to almost a' we meet, I've come to ken.
and with a laugh some English Tommies will make a dash at the line "a braw, bricht, minlicht nicht," with ludicrous consequences to the pronunciation! According to "Joe," of the 2nd Royal Scots, the favorite songs in the trenches or round the camp-fire are "Never Mind," and "The Last Boat is leaving for Home." "Hitchy Koo" is another favorite, and was being sung in the midst of a German attack.
"Ye may not ask, but A'll tell you A'm seventy-four come Michaelmas, an' A've never looked into the bricht ees o' a lassie since A' lost me wee Jean, who flit wi' a colonel o' dragoons, in the year the battle of Balaklava was fought will ye shut yeer face whilst A'm dictatin'?" "Sorry," murmured the corporal and poised his pencil.
There's a heap o' wonnerfu' things there, they tell me; an' whiles a strokin win' an' whiles a rosy smell, an' whiles a bricht licht, an' whiles, they say, an auld yearnin' sang, 'ill brak oot, an' wanner awa doon, an' gang flittin' an' fleein' amang the sair herts o' the men an' women fowk 'at canna get things putten richt."
Mutterin' a brief a verra brief prayer that the Hoons would be strafed, he climbt an' climbt till he could 'a' strook a match on the moon. After him wi' set lips an' flashin' een came the bluidy-minded ravagers of Belgium, Serbia an' A'm afreed Roomania. Theer bullets whistled aboot his lugs but, "His eyes were bricht, His hairt were licht, For Tam the Scoot was fu' o' ficht
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