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382 Works of Robert Burns

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Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief!For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my lass!For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glass!I see the children of afflictionUnaided, through thy curst restriction:I’ve seen the oppressor’s cruel smileAmid his hapless victim’s spoil;And for thy potence vainly wished,To crush the villain in […]

Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,And ‘mang her favourites admit you:If e’er Detraction shore to smit you,May nane believe him,And ony deil that thinks to get you,Good Lord, deceive him! 1786

The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art,He pours the wild effusions of the heart;And if inspir’d ’tis Nature’s pow’rs inspire;Her’s all the melting thrill, and her’s the kindling fire. 1786

Once fondly lov’d, and still remember’d dear,Sweet early object of my youthful vows,Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,Friendship! ’tis all cold duty now allows.And when you read the simple artless rhymes,One friendly sigh for him–he asks no more,Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes,Or haply lies beneath th’ Atlantic roar.

[Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.] To you, sir, this summons I’ve sent,Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing;But if you demand what I want,I honestly answer you–naething. Ne’er scorn a poor Poet like me,For idly just living and breathing,While people of every degreeAre busy employed about–naething. Poor Centum-per-centum may fast,And grumble his hurdies their […]

The Calf

Story type: Poetry

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To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. “And yeshall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall.” Right, sir! your text I’ll prove it true,Tho’ heretics may laugh;For instance, there’s yourself just now,God knows, an unco calf. And should some patron be so kind,As bless you wi’ […]

Farewell, old Scotia’s bleak domains,Far dearer than the torrid plains,Where rich ananas blow!Farewell, a mother’s blessing dear!A borther’s sigh! a sister’s tear!My Jean’s heart-rending throe!Farewell, my Bess! tho’ thou’rt bereftOf my paternal care.A faithful brother I have left,My part in him thou’lt share!Adieu, too, to you too,My Smith, my bosom frien’;When kindly you mind me,O […]

Willie Chalmers

Story type: Poetry

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Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows:– Wi’ braw new branks in mickle pride,And eke a braw new brechan,My Pegasus I’m got astride,And up […]

Nature’s Law

Story type: Poetry

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Humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Great Nature spoke: observant man obey’d–Pope. Let other heroes boast their scars,The marks of sturt and strife:And other poets sing of wars,The plagues of human life: Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and gunTo slap mankind like lumber!I sing his name, and nobler fame,Wha multiplies our number. Great Nature […]

The Brigs Of Ayr

Story type: Poetry

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Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr. The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,Learning his tuneful trade from ev’ry bough;The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,Or deep-ton’d plovers grey, wild-whistling o’er the hill;Shall he–nurst in the peasant’s lowly shed,To hardy […]

What ails ye now, ye lousie bitchTo thresh my back at sic a pitch?Losh, man! hae mercy wi’ your natch,Your bodkin’s bauld;I didna suffer half sae muchFrae Daddie Auld. What tho’ at times, when I grow crouse,I gie their wames a random pouse,Is that enough for you to souseYour servant sae?Gae mind your seam, ye […]

Lying at a reverend friend’s house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept:– O Thou dread Power, who reign’st above,I know thou wilt me hear,When for this scene of peace and love,I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire–the mortal stroke,Long, long be pleas’d to spare;To bless this […]

I’m now arrived–thanks to the gods!–Thro’ pathways rough and muddy,A certain sign that makin roadsIs no this people’s study:Altho’ Im not wi’ Scripture cram’d,I’m sure the Bible saysThat heedless sinners shall be damn’d,Unless they mend their ways. 1786

Fragment Of Song

Story type: Poetry

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The night was still, and o’er the hillThe moon shone on the castle wa’;The mavis sang, while dew-drops hangAround her on the castle wa’;Sae merrily they danced the ringFrae eenin’ till the cock did craw;And aye the o’erword o’ the springWas “Irvine’s bairns are bonie a’.” 1786

My curse upon your venom’d stang,That shoots my tortur’d gums alang,An’ thro’ my lug gies mony a twang,Wi’ gnawing vengeance,Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang,Like racking engines! When fevers burn, or argues freezes,Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes,Our neibor’s sympathy can ease us,Wi’ pitying moan;But thee–thou hell o’ a’ diseases–Aye mocks our groan. Adown my beard […]

Tune–“Roslin Castle.” “I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.”–R. B. The gloomy night is gath’ring fast,Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,Yon murky cloud is […]

Masonic Song

Story type: Poetry

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Tune–“Shawn-boy,” or “Over the water to Charlie.” Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,To follow the noble vocation;Your thrifty old mother has scarce such anotherTo sit in that honoured station.I’ve little to say, but only to pray,As praying’s the ton of your fashion;A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse‘Tis seldom her favourite […]

Lines On Meeting with Lord Daer[1] This wot ye all whom it concerns,I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,October twenty-third,A ne’er-to-be-forgotten day,Sae far I sprackl’d up the brae,I dinner’d wi’ a Lord. I’ve been at drucken writers’ feasts,Nay, been bitch-fou ‘mang godly priests–Wi’ rev’rence be it spoken!–I’ve even join’d the honour’d jorum,When mighty Squireships of the quorum,Their […]

Per Contra

Story type: Poetry

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Go, Fame, an’ canter like a fillyThro’ a’ the streets an’ neuks o’ Killie;Tell ev’ry social honest billieTo cease his grievin’;For, yet unskaithed by Death’s gleg gullie.Tam Samson’s leevin’! 1786

Tam Samson’s weel-worn clay here liesYe canting zealots, spare him!If honest worth in Heaven rise,Ye’ll mend or ye win near him. 1786