Robert Burns Short Poems

Robert Burns Short Poems

  • NO 1 sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
    “No storied urn nor animated bust;”
    This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way,
    To pour her sorrows o’er the Poet’s dust.ADDITIONAL STANZASShe mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate;
    Tho’ all the powers of song thy fancy fired,
    Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state,
    And, thankless, starv’d what they so much admired.

    This tribute, with a tear, now gives
    A brother Bard-he can no more bestow:
    But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives,
    A nobler monument than Art can shew.

  • O HAD each Scot of ancient times
    Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art;
    The bravest heart on English ground
    Had yielded like a coward.
  • HERE lie Willie Michie’s banes;
    O Satan, when ye tak him,
    Gie him the schulin o’ your weans,
    For clever deils he’ll mak them!
  • HERE Souter Hood in death does sleep;
    To hell if he’s gane thither,
    Satan, gie him thy gear to keep;
    He’ll haud it weel thegither.
  • WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
    My mind it was na steady;
    Where’er I gaed, where’er I rade,
    A mistress still I had aye.But when I came roun’ by Mauchline toun,
    Not dreadin anybody,
    My heart was caught, before I thought,
    And by a Mauchline lady.
  • KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
    Of this much lov’d, much honoured name!
    (For none that knew him need be told)
    A warmer heart death ne’er made cold.
  • WEE Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
    Peel a willow wand to be him boots and jacket;
    The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,
    The rose upon the breir will be him trews an’ doublet,Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
    Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;
    Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
    Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
  • YE hypocrites! are these your pranks?
    To murder men and give God thanks!
    Desist, for shame!—proceed no further;
    God won’t accept your thanks for MURTHER
  • HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm’d,
    If ever he rise, it will be to be damn’d.
  • CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing,
    Lovely Burns has charms—confess:
    True it is, she had one failing,
    Had a woman ever less?
  • ALTHO’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller,
    I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
    I rather wad bear a’ the lade o’ my sorrow,
    Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
  • GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live,
    To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
    Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures free as air,
    Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.
  • HERE Brewer Gabriel’s fire’s extinct,
    And empty all his barrels:
    He’s blest—if, as he brew’d, he drink,
    In upright, honest morals.
  • DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide,
    I’d rather sit wi’ you than ride,
    Though ’twere wi’ royal Geordie:
    And trowth, your kindness, soon and late,
    Aft gars me to mysel’ look blate—
    The Lord in Heav’n reward ye!R. BURNS.ELLISLAND.

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