The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I’ll place the lily there; The daisy’s for simplicity and unaffected air, And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu’, wi’ its locks o’ siller gray, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o’ day; But the songster’s nest within the bush I winna tak away And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu’, when the e’ening star is near, And the diamond draps o’ dew shall be her een sae clear; The violet’s for modesty, which weel she fa’s to wear, And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May. I’ll tie the Posie round wi’ the silken band o’ luve, And I’ll place it in her breast, and I’ll swear by a’ above, That to my latest draught o’ life the band shall ne’er remove, And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May. On Glenriddell’s Fox Breaking His Chain A Fragment, 1791. Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme; Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddess That a fantastic cap and rod has; Such stale conceits are poor and silly; I paint thee out, a Highland filly, A sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple, As sleek’s a mouse, as round’s an apple, That when thou pleasest canst do wonders; But when thy luckless rider blunders, Or if thy fancy should demur there, Wilt break thy neck ere thou go further. These things premised, I sing a Fox, Was caught among his native rocks, And to a dirty kennel chained, How he his liberty regained. Glenriddell! Whig without a stain, A Whig in principle and grain, Could’st thou enslave a free-born creature, A native denizen of Nature? How could’st thou, with a heart so good, (A better ne’er was sluiced with blood!) Nail a poor devil to a tree, That ne’er did harm to thine or thee? The staunchest Whig Glenriddell was, Quite frantic in his country’s cause; And oft was Reynard’s prison passing, And with his brother-Whigs canvassing The Rights of Men, the Powers of Women, With all the dignity of Freemen. Sir Reynard daily heard debates Of Princes’, Kings’, and Nations’ fates, With many rueful, bloody stories Of Tyrants, Jacobites, and Tories: From liberty how angels fell, That now are galley-slaves in hell; How Nimrod first the trade began Of binding Slavery’s chains on Man; How fell Semiramis—God damn her! Did first, with sacrilegious hammer, (All ills till then were trivial matters) For Man dethron’d forge hen-peck fetters;