Robert Burns

Burns Book

Edina! Scotia’s darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow’rs, Where once, beneath a Monarch’s feet, Sat Legislation’s sov’reign pow’rs: From marking wildly scatt’red flow’rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray’d, And singing, lone, the lingering hours, I shelter in they honour’d shade. Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy Trade his labours plies; There Architecture’s noble pride Bids elegance and splendour rise: Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode. Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg’d, their liberal mind, Above the narrow, rural vale: Attentive still to Sorrow’s wail, Or modest Merit’s silent claim; And never may their sources fail! And never Envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur’d thrill of joy! Fair Burnet strikes th’ adoring eye, Heaven’s beauties on my fancy shine; I see the Sire of Love on high, And own His work indeed divine! There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold veteran, grey in arms,

And mark’d with many a seamy scar: The pond’rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o’er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war, And oft repell’d th’ invader’s shock. With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, I view that noble, stately Dome, Where Scotia’s kings of other years, Fam’d heroes! had their royal home: Alas, how chang’d the times to come! Their royal name low in the dust! Their hapless race wild-wand’ring roam! Tho’ rigid Law cries out ‘twas just! Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Thro’ hostile ranks and ruin’d gaps Old Scotia’s bloody lion bore: Ev’n I who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac’d grim Danger’s loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led! Edina! Scotia’s darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow’rs; Where once, beneath a Monarch’s feet, Sat Legislation’s sovereign pow’rs: From marking wildly-scatt’red flow’rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray’d, And singing, lone, the ling’ring hours, I shelter in thy honour’d shade.

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rgh The Wounded Hare

Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!

Go live, poor wand’rer of the wood and field! The bitter little that of life remains:

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!

The sheltering rushes whistling o’er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.

Perhaps a mother’s anguish adds its woe; The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side; Ah! helpless nurslings, who will now provide

That life a mother only can bestow!

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I’ll miss thee sporting o’er the dewy lawn,

And curse the ruffian’s aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.

Scots Wha HaeScots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,Welcome to your gory bedOr 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!

Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward’s grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?---Let him turn, and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s King and LawFreedom’s sword will strongly draw,Freeman stand, or Freeman fa’,Let him follow me!

By Oppression’s woes and pains,By your sons in servile chains,We will drain your dearest veins,But they shall be free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty’s in every blow!---Let us do, or die!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne!

For auld land syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp! And surely I’ll be mine! And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes, And pou’d the gowans fine; But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit Sin’ auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us briad hae roar’d Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!

And gie’s a hand o’ thine! And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

(Listen...)

Oh wert thou in the cauld blast,On yonder lea, on yonder lea,My plaidie to the angry airt,

I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee;Or did misfortune’s bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a’, to share it a’.

Or were I in the wildest waste,Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,

The desart were a paradise,If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Or were I monarch o’ the globe,Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign,

The brightest jewel in my crownWad be my queen, wad be my queen.

Oh Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast

A Grace Before Dinner, Extempore

O thou who kindly dost provide For every creature’s want!

We bless Thee, God of Nature wide, For all Thy goodness lent:

And if it please Thee, Heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent;

But, whether granted, or denied, Lord, bless us with content. Amen!

A Grace After Dinner, Extempore

O thou, in whom we live and move- Who made the sea and shore;

Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore;

And, if it please Thee, Power above! Still grant us, with such store,

The friend we trust, the fair we love- And we desire no more. Amen!

The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet: Tho’ winter wild in tempest toil’d, Ne’er summer-sun was half sae sweet. Than a’ the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o’er the sultry line; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heav’n gave me more-it made thee mine!

While day and night can bring delight, Or Nature aught of pleasure give; While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live. When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart!

The Day Returns

Sleep’st thou, or wak’st thou, fairest creature? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi’ the tears o’ joy. Now, to the streaming fountain, Or up the heathy mountain, The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray; In twining hazel bowers, Its lay the linnet pours, The laverock to the sky Ascends, wi’ sangs o’ joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus gilding the brow of morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade, Nature, gladdening and adorning; Such to me my lovely maid. When frae my Chloris parted, Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, The night’s gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o’ercast my sky: But when she charms my sight, In pride of Beauty’s light- When thro’ my very heart Her burning glories dart; ‘Tis then-’tis then I wake to life and joy!

The Lover’s Morning Salute to His Mistress

It was the charming month of May, When all the flow’rs were fresh and gay. One morning, by the break of day, The youthful, charming Chloe- From peaceful slumber she arose, Girt on her mantle and her hose, And o’er the flow’ry mead she goes- The youthful, charming Chloe.

Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o’er the pearly lawn, The youthful, charming Chloe.

The feather’d people you might see Perch’d all around on every tree, In notes of sweetest melody They hail the charming Chloe; Till, painting gay the eastern skies, The glorious sun began to rise, Outrival’d by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe.

Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o’er the pearly lawn, The youthful, charming Chloe.

The Charming Month of May

O wat ye wha that lo’es me And has my heart a-keeping? O sweet is she that lo’es me, As dews o’ summer weeping, In tears the rosebuds steeping!

O that’s the lassie o’ my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O she’s the queen o’ womankind, And ne’er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a lassie, In grace and beauty charming, That e’en thy chosen lassie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming, Had ne’er sic powers alarming;

O that’s the lassie o’ my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O she’s the queen o’ womankind, And ne’er a ane to peer her.

If thou hadst heard her talking, And thy attention’s plighted, That ilka body talking, But her, by thee is slighted, And thou art all delighted;

O that’s the lassie o’ my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O she’s the queen o’ womankind, And ne’er a ane to peer her.

If thou hast met this Fair One, When frae her thou hast parted, If every other Fair One But her, thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted, O that’s the lassie o’ my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O that’s the queen o’ womankind, And ne’er a ane to peer her.

O That’s the Lassie O’ My Heart

Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’ a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord, Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;

Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that: For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His ribband, star, an’ a’ that: The man o’ independent mind He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that; But an honest man’s abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their dignities an’ a’ that; The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth, Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a’ that,) That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth, Shall bear the gree, an’ a’ that.

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Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

My Heart’s In The Highlands

Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me, If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy mamie, Shall ever daunton me or awe me, My bonie lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’ me Tyta or daddie.

Tho’ now they ca’ me fornicator, An’ tease my name in kintry clatter, The mair they talk, I’m kent the better, E’en let them clash; An auld wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter To gie ane fash.

Welcome! my bonie, sweet, wee dochter, Tho’ ye come here a wee unsought for, And tho’ your comin’ I hae fought for, Baith kirk and queir; Yet, by my faith, ye’re no unwrought for, That I shall swear!

Wee image o’ my bonie Betty, As fatherly I kiss and daut thee, As dear, and near my heart I set thee Wi’ as gude will As a’ the priests had seen me get thee That’s out o’ hell.

Sweet fruit o’ mony a merry dint, My funny toil is now a’ tint, Sin’ thou came to the warl’ asklent, Which fools may scoff at; In my last plack thy part’s be in’t The better ha’f o’t.

Tho’ I should be the waur bestead, Thou’s be as braw and bienly clad, And thy young years as nicely bred Wi’ education, As ony brat o’ wedlock’s bed, In a’ thy station.

Lord grant that thou may aye inherit Thy mither’s person, grace, an’ merit, An’ thy poor, worthless daddy’s spirit, Without his failins, ‘Twill please me mair to see thee heir it, Than stockit mailens.

For if thou be what I wad hae thee, And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, I’ll never rue my trouble wi’ thee, The cost nor shame o’t, But be a loving father to thee, And brag the name o’t.

A Poet’s Welcome to His Love-Begotten Daughter

Oh my luve is like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June: Oh my luve is 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’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my luve, Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

A Red, Red Rose

O why the deuce should I repine, And be an ill foreboder? I’m twenty-three, and five feet nine, I’ll go and be a sodger!

I gat some gear wi’ mickle care, I held it weel thegither; But now it’s gane, and something mair- I’ll go and be a sodger!

I’ll Go and Be a SodgerA Rose-bud by my early walk,

Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o’ dawn are fled, In a’ its crimson glory spread, And drooping rich the dewy head, It scents the early morning.

Within the bush her covert nest A little linnet fondly prest; The dew sat chilly on her breast, Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, The pride, the pleasure o’ the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew’d, Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air, Shall sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And bless the parent’s evening ray That watch’d thy early morning.

A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk

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 lights me; Dark despair around benights me.

I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy: But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov’d sae kindly, Had we never lov’d sae blindly, Never met-or never parted, We had ne’er been broken-hearted.

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweeli alas, for ever!

Ae Fond Kiss, and Then We Sever

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is no more.

Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half your din of tuneless sound With Echo silent lies.

Epitaph On a Lap-Dog Named Echo

True hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr; But by the sweet side o’ the Nith’s winding river, Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain, Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, And sweet is the lily, at evening close; But in the fair presence o’ lovely young Jessie, Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; Enthron’d in her een he delivers his law: And still to her charms she alone is a stranger; Her modest demeanour’s the jewel of a’.

Lovely Young Jessie