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 Ñ 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
........
Scotch Drink
  _
Let other poets raise a fracas
Bout vines, and wines, an drucken Bacchus,
An crabbit names an stories wrack us, An grate our lug:   _
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
In glass or Jug.
  _
O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch drink!
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink,
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,   _
In glorious faem
Inspire me, till I lisp an wink,
To sing thy name!   _

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
An aits set up their awnie horn,   _
An Pease and beans, at e'en or morn,
Perfume the plain:
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,   _
Thou king o' grain!

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,   _
In souple scones, the wale o' food!
Or tumbling in the boiling flood
Wi' kail an beef;   _
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood
There thou shines chief.
  _
Food fills the wame, an keeps us livin;
Tho life's a gift no worth receivin
When heavy-dragg'd wi pine an grievin;   _
But oil'd by thee
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,
Wi' rattlin glee.   _

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear,
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care;   _
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair,
At 's weary toil;
Thou ev'n brightens dark Despair   _
Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in massy siller weed,   _
Wi gentles thou erscts thy head;
Yet humbly kind in time o' need,
The poor man's wine:   _
His wee drap parritch, or his bread,
Thou kitchens fine.
  _
Thou art the life o' public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants?
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,   _
By thee inspir'd,
When, gaping, they besiege the tents,
Are doubly fir'd.   _

That merry night we get the corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn   _
Or reekin on a New-Year mornin
In cog or bicker,
An just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,   _
An gusty sucker!

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,   _
An ploughmen gather wi their graith,
O rare! to see thee fizz an freath
I' th' lugget caup!   _
Then Burnewin comes on like death
At every chaup.
  _
Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel:
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip, wi sturdy wheel,   _
The strong forehammer,
Till block an studdie ring an reel,
Wi dinsome clamour.   _

When skirlin' weanies see the light,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,   _
How fumblin coofs their dearies slight;
Wae worth the name!
Nae howdie gets a social night,   _
Or plack frae them.

When neebors anger at a plea,   _
An just as wud as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-brie
Cement the quarrel!   _
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee,
To taste the barrel.
  _
Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason,
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason!
But monie daily weet their weason   _
Wi' liquors nice,
An hardly, in a winter season,
E'er spier her price.   _

Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash!
Fell source o' monie a pain an brash!   _
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash
O' half his days;
An sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash   _
To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well!   _
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,
Poor, plackless devils like mysel!
It sets you ill   _
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,
Or foreign gill.
  _
May gravels round his blather wrench,
An gouts torment him, inch by inch,
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch   _
O' sour disdain
Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch
Wi honest men!   _

O Whisky! soul o' plays an pranks!
Accept a Bardie's gratefu thanks!   _
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!
Thou comesÑthey rattle i' their ranks,   _
At ither's arses!

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!   _
Scotland lament frae coast to coast!
Now colic grips, an barkin hoast
May kill us a';   _
For loyal Eorbes' charter'd boast
Is taen awa!
  _
They curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize!
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!   _
There, seize the blinkers!
An bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor damn'd drinkers.   _

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, an whisky gill,   _
An rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,
Tak a' the rest,
An deal't about as thy blind skill   _
Directs thee best.
........
Scots Wha Hae
  _
Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie!   _
Now's the day, and now's the hour:
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's powerÑ Chains and slaverie!   _

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?   _
Wha sae base as be a slave?Ñ Let him turn, and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and Law
Freedom'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!Ñ Let us do, or die!