Robert Burns Poetry

The Poet’s Progress Robert Burns Poetry A Poem In Embryo Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, The horned bull, tremendous, spurns the ground; The lordly lion has enough and more, The forest trembles at his very roar; Thou giv’st the ass […]

Elegy On Stella Poetry The following poem is the work of some hapless son of the Muses whodeserved a better fate. There is a great deal of The voice of Cona inhis solitary, mournful notes; and had the sentiments been clothed inShenstone’s language, they would have been no discredit even to thatelegant poet.—R.B. Strait is […]

Death and Doctor Hornbook Poetry A True Story Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn’d: Ev’n ministers they hae been kenn’d, In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend, And nail’t wi’ Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, Which lately on a […]

Braw Lads O’ Galla Water Poetry Braw, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, They rove amang the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws Can match the lads o’ Galla Water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a’ I loe him better; And I’ll be his, and he’ll be mine, The bonie lad […]

On John Bushby, Esq., Tinwald Downs Poem Robert Burns Here lies John Bushby—honest man, Cheat him, Devil—if you can!

Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson Poetry A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately fromAlmighty God. Should the poor be flattered?—Shakespeare. O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! The meikle devil wi’ a woodie Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, O’er hurcheon hides, And like stock-fish come o’er his studdie Wi’ thy […]

THE CALF. TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN. On his text, MALACHI, iv. 2–“And ye shall go forth, and grow up as CALVES of the stall.” The laugh which this little poem raised against Steven was a loud one. Burns composed it during the sermon to which it relates and repeated it to Gavin Hamilton, […]

Robert Burns Poem Epitaph On James Grieve, Laird Of Boghead, Tarbolton Here lies Boghead amang the dead In hopes to get salvation; But if such as he in Heav’n may be, Then welcome, hail! damnation.

There Was A Bonie Lass Robert Burns Poetry There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass, And she lo’ed her bonie laddie dear; Till War’s loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, Wi’ mony a sigh and tear. Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, He still was a stranger […]

Poem On Pastoral Poetry Poetry Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv’d! In chase o’ thee, what crowds hae swerv’d Frae common sense, or sunk enerv’d ‘Mang heaps o’ clavers: And och! o’er aft thy joes hae starv’d, ‘Mid a’ thy favours! Say, Lassie, why, thy train amang, While loud the trump’s heroic clang, And sock or […]