30 Poems of Robert Burns

A Man's A Man For A' That
Address To The Tooth-Ache
Again Rejoicing Nature Sees
Anna
Craigieburn Wood
Despondency � An Ode
Handsome Nell
Here's A Health To Them That's Awa
Highland Mary
Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring
Mary Morison
My Nannie, O
Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green
O, Were My Love
On a Bank of Flowers
Peggy
Scotch Drink
Scots Wha Hae
She Says She Lo'es Me Best Of A'
The Banks O' Doon
The Battle of Sherramuir
The Birks Of Aberfeldie
The Lass Of Cessnock Banks
The Rigs O' Barley
The Wounded Hare
Thou Lingering Star
To A Kiss
To A Louse
To a Mouse
To the Wood-Lark
........
Mary Morison
  _
O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wish'd the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see, That makes the miser's treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun,   _
Could I the rich reward secure �
The lovely Mary Morison!
  _
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,   _
I sat, but neither heard or saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a'the town,   _
I sigh'd, and said amang them a' �
Ye are na Mary Morison!
  _
O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his   _
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown:   _
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
........
My Nannie, O
  _
Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And I'll awa to Nannie, O.
  _
The westlin wind blaws loud and shill; The night's baith mirk an' rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.   _

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young:
Nae artfu' wiles to Will ye, O:   _
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
  _
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
She's spotless as she's bonnie, O:
The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew,   _
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,   _
And few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O.   _

My riches a' 's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, O;   _
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.
  _
Our auld guidman delights to view
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,   _
An' has nae care but Nannie, O.

Come weel, come woe, I care na by,   _
I'll tak' what Heav'n will sen' me, O;
Nae ither care in life have I,
But live, an' love my Nannie, O.
........
Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green
  _
Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers:
While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego,   _
O why thus all alone are mine The weary steps of woe?

The trout in yonder wimpling burn That glides, a silver dart,   _
And safe beneath the shady thorn Defies the angler's art �
My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I;
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, Has scorch'd my fountains dry.   _

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows,   _
Was mine; till love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom,
And now beneath the with'ring blast My youth and joy consume.
  _
The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings In morning's rosy eye:
As little reckt I sorrow's power, Until the flowery snare   _
O' witching love, in luckless hour, Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows, Or Afric's burning zone,   _
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known!
The wretch whase doom is, hope nae mair, What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell.
........
O, Were My Love
  _
O, were my love yon lilac fair Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing.
How I wad mourn when it was torn By Autumn wild and Winter rude!   _
But I wad sing on wanton wing When youthfu May its bloom renew'd.

O, gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa',   _
And I mysel a drap o' dew Into her bonie breast to fa',
O, there, beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night,
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!
........
On a Bank of Flowers
  _
On a bank of flowers in a summer day For summer lightly drest,
The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro the wood Who for her favour oft had sued�   _
He gaz'd, he wish'd He fear'd, he blush'd And trembled where he stood.

Her clos�d eyes, like weapons sheath'd, Were sealed in soft repose;   _
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, It richer dyed the rose.
The springing lilies, sweetly Crest, Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast:
He gaz'd, he wish'd, He fear'd he blush'd His bosom ill at rest.   _

Her robes, light-waving in the breeze, Her tender limbs embrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease, All harmony and grace.   _
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gaz'd, he wish'd, He fear'd, he blush'd, And sigh'd his very soul.
  _
As flies the partridge from the brake On fear-inspired wings
So Nelly starting, half-awake Away affrighted springs.
But Willie, follow'd�as he should He overtook her in the wood;   _
He vow'd, he pray'd, He found the maid Forgiving all, and good.
........
Peggy
  _
Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
And the moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather;   _
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night.   _
To muse upou my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;   _
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts tbe lonely dell;
The soaring hern the fountains:   _
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,   _
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,   _
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine
Some solitary wander:   _
Avaunt, away, the cruel sway!
Tyrannic man's dominion;
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,   _
The flutt'ring, gory pinion!

But Peggy dear, the evening's clear,   _
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow:   _
Come let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,   _
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,   _
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:   _
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me,   _
My fair, my lovely charmer!

My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose   _
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my love is like a melodie,   _
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie 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 of life shall run.
  _
And fare the weel, my only luve!
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.   _
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!