Poems List

Lines on the Fall of Fyers Near Loch Ness

Lines on the Fall of Fyers Near Loch Ness
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends.
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, lours:
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils -
265

Lass That Made the Bed to Me, The

Lass That Made the Bed to Me, The
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na whare to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care,
And Kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
An bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank - "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."
Chorus - The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi' a kis,
I put my arms about her neck.
Chorus: -...
"Haud aff your hands, young man! she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang ma my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her 'tween me and the wa';


The lassie thocht na lang till day.
Chorus: -...
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me."
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye aye shall make the bed to me."
Chorus: - ...
She took her mither's holland sheets,
An' made them a' in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
242

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, On the Approach of Spring

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, On the Approach of Spring
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daises white
Out o'er the grassy lea
Now Pheebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
Now laverocks wake the merry morn
Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild ai' mony a note,
Sings drowsy day to reast
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.
I was the Queen o' bonie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.
But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,
Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae;
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae my mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee:
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,


Remember him for me!
O! soon, to me, may Summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the Autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn?
And, in the narrow house of death,
Let Winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs that deck the Spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!
208

Lament for Culloden

Lament for Culloden
THE lovely lass o' Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, 'Alas!'
And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e:
'Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
A waefu' day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear and brethren three.
'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman's e'e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair,
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.'
228

John Anderson My Jo

John Anderson My Jo
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;
But now your brow is bled, John,
Your locks are like the straw,
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither
And monie a cantie day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo!
246

John Barleycorn

John Barleycorn
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and ploughed him down,
Put clods upon his head;
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerfu' spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.
The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel armed wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Showed he began to fail.
His colour sickened more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;


But a miller used him worst of all,
For he crushed him 'tween two stones.
And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise;
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy:
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
274

In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer

In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer
Tune - "Go from my window, Love, do."
The sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retired to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lies the dear partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment at rest:
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lie my sweet babies in her arms;
No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
I once was by Fortune carest:
I once could relieve the distrest:
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear-
O, wither would they go!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For, in this world, Rest or Peace
I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
259

Jean

Jean
OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill between;
But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There 's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
211

Holy Willie's Prayer

Holy Willie's Prayer
'And send the godly in a pet to pray.' - Pope
O Thou, that in the heavens does dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel',
Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell,
A' for Thy glory,
And no for onie guid or ill
They've done afore Thee!
I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an' grace
A burning and a shining light
To a' this place.
What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation,
I wha deserv'd most just damnation
For broken laws,
Sax thousand years ere my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.
When from my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell,
To gnash my gooms, and weep and wail,
In burnin lakes,
Where daned devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to their stakes.
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, and example,
To a' Thy flock.
O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,
An' sining here, an' dancin there,
Wi great and sma';
For I am keepit by Thy fear
Free frae them a'.
But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.
O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg -


Thy pardon I sincerely beg;
O! may't ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.
Besides, I farther maun allow,
Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow -
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I cam near her;
Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true
Wad never steer her.
Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn,
That he's sae gifted:
If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne,
Until Thou lift it.
Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts;
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
Yet has sae mony takin arts,
Wi' great and sma',
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.
An' when we chasten'd him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
An' set the warld in a roar
O' laughing at us; -
Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an' potatoes.
Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord make it bare
Upo' their heads;
Lord visit them, an' dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.
O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
My vera heart and flesh are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,
An' p-'d wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin,
Held up his head.
Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him,
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by them,
Nor hear them their pray'r,


But for Thy people's sake destroy them,
An' dinna spare.
But, Lord, remember me an' mine
Wi' mercies temporal and divine,
That I for grace an' gear may shine,
Excell'd by nane,
And a' the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!
534

Highland Mary

Highland Mary
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There Simmer first unfald her robes,
And there the langest tarry:
For there I took the last Fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden Hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my Dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder:
But Oh, fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my Flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance,
That dwalt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
249

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Identification and basic context

Robert Burns, often hailed as the Bard of Ayrshire, is Scotland's national poet and a globally recognized figure in literature. He was born in Alloway, Ayrshire, Scotland. His primary language of writing was Scots, though he also wrote in English and occasionally in a heavily anglicized Scots. Burns lived during a period of significant social and political change, influenced by the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, which fostered a spirit of reform and nationalism.

Childhood and education

Burns's childhood was shaped by rural poverty and hard agricultural labor. His father, William Burnes, was a tenant farmer who instilled in his children a strong sense of self-improvement and education. Robert received a basic formal education but was largely self-taught, devouring books on literature, philosophy, and history. Early influences included the Bible, Scottish ballads, and the works of Enlightenment thinkers like Robert Fergusson and Allan Ramsay, which kindled his interest in Scottish culture and language.

Literary trajectory

Burns's literary career began in earnest in his early twenties. He started writing poetry as a pastime, initially to court women and to express his feelings about life in rural Scotland. His first collection, *Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect*, published in 1786, was a resounding success, quickly bringing him fame and allowing him to move to Edinburgh. He continued to write and collect Scottish folk songs, contributing significantly to the preservation and popularization of Scottish musical heritage. He also worked as an exciseman (tax collector) to supplement his income, a profession that sometimes interfered with his writing but also exposed him to different aspects of Scottish life.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Burns's most famous works include "Auld Lang Syne," "Tam o' Shanter," "Scots Wha Hae," and "Ae Fond Kiss." His dominant themes are love (often unrequited or passionate), nature (the beauty of the Scottish landscape, the cycles of life), friendship, social inequality, and Scottish identity. His style is characterized by its directness, emotional sincerity, and vibrant use of Scots dialect, which he elevated to a literary language. He masterfully employed rhyme, rhythm, and folk song structures, often infused with a lyrical and sometimes satirical tone. His poetic voice is intimate, earthy, and often deeply patriotic or humanist. Burns's innovations lay in his ability to imbue traditional folk forms with profound personal and social commentary, making his work accessible and resonant across social classes.

Cultural and historical context

Burns was a product of the Scottish Enlightenment, a period of intellectual and cultural flourishing. His work reflected the social changes and national consciousness of late 18th-century Scotland. He was often critical of social injustices and the established church, aligning himself with reformist sentiments. His poetry captured the spirit of rural life and the burgeoning sense of Scottish identity, making him a folk hero during his lifetime and beyond. He was part of a generation of Scottish writers who sought to celebrate and preserve Scottish culture.

Personal life

Burns's personal life was tumultuous and marked by numerous romantic relationships, illegitimate children, and financial struggles. His passionate nature and strong convictions often led to conflicts with authority. His friendships, particularly with other poets and intellectuals, were important, though he also faced professional rivalries. His dedication to his family and his love for Scotland were central to his identity. His beliefs were complex, often questioning religious dogma while cherishing spiritual sentiments and humanistic values.

Recognition and reception

Burns achieved considerable fame during his lifetime, particularly after the publication of his first volume of poetry. He was celebrated in Edinburgh's literary circles, though his rural origins and sometimes unconventional lifestyle set him apart. Posthumously, his reputation grew, and he became an enduring symbol of Scottish culture. His songs and poems are now sung and recited worldwide, especially during Burns Night celebrations. His popular appeal has remained strong across centuries and social strata.

Influences and legacy

Burns was influenced by Scottish folk traditions, ballads, and poets like Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson. His legacy is immense; he is considered the definitive voice of Scottish poetry and song, shaping national identity and inspiring generations of Scottish writers and musicians. His works have been translated into numerous languages and continue to be performed and studied globally. His impact on the preservation and popularization of the Scots language is invaluable.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Burns's work is often interpreted through the lens of Scottish nationalism, romanticism, and social commentary. Critics debate the balance between his celebration of rural life and his critique of social structures. His use of dialect and his passionate voice invite analyses of authenticity, emotion, and cultural representation.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite his often romanticized image, Burns faced significant financial hardship throughout his life, working as an exciseman to support his family. He was also a Freemason and held a deep interest in Scottish history and folklore. His passionate personality and sharp wit were well-known, and he was not afraid to challenge the status quo through his writings.

Death and memory

Robert Burns died at the age of 37. His death was widely mourned, and his legacy was immediately cemented through the continued publication and performance of his works. Burns Night, celebrated annually on January 25th, ensures his enduring memory and cultural significance.