Robert Burns Poetry

Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux Poetry Now Robin lies in his last lair, He’ll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi’ hungry stare, Nae mair shall fear him; Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, E’er mair come near him. To tell the truth, they seldom fash’d him, Except the moment that […]

Robert Burns – John Anderson, My Jo Poem John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my […]

There’ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame Robert Burns Poetry By yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho’ his head it was grey: And as he was singing, the tears doon came,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. The Church is in ruins, the […]

Impromptu I’ll Go And Be A Sodger Robert Burns Poetry 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 […]

The Gallant Weaver Robert Burns Poetry Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. O, I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear’d my heart wad tine, […]

Robert Burns – My Bonie Bell Poem The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o’er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev’ning gilds the ocean’s swell; All creatures joy in the sun’s returning, And I […]

Open The Door To Me, Oh Poetry Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, oh: The frost […]

On A Suicide Poem Robert Burns Earth’d up, here lies an imp o’ hell, Planted by Satan’s dibble; Poor silly wretch, he’s damned himsel’, To save the Lord the trouble.

The Highland Widow’s Lament Robert Burns Poetry Oh I am come to the low Countrie, Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! Without a penny in my purse, To buy a meal to me. It was na sae in the Highland hills, Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! Nae woman in the Country wide, Sae happy was as me. For then I […]

THE INVENTORY; IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. We have heard of a poor play-actor who, by a humorous inventory of his effects, so moved the commissioners of the income tax, that they remitted all claim on him then and forever; we know not that this very humorous inventory of […]