The Classic Poems by Robert Burns.
Title: The Classic Poems.
Author: Robert Burns.
Genre: Literature, poetry, nature, religion, songs, romance.
Country: Scotland.
Language: English.
Publication Date: 1785-1797.
Summary: This collection collects 13 poems, 35 songs (many traditional Scottish folk songs written down, adapted, or preserved by Burns), 2 psalms and 2 prayers. POEMS: To a Mountain Daisy, on Turning One Down with the Plough (1786) tells of how the poet, while out with the plough, discovers that he has crushed a daisy's stem. In To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough (1785) the author accidentally destroys a mouse's nest, which it needs to survive the winter. The Cotter's Saturday Night (1786) relates how the Cotter and his family relax on a Saturday evening after a week's labour, with eldest daughter visiting from out of town with her new man to eat their peasant meal and join round the fireside to hear the father read from the Bible. Address to a Haggis (1786) was written by the author to celebrate his appreciation of Haggis. In To a Louse, on Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at Church (1786) the narrator chastises the louse for not realising how important its host is when he notices it on an upper class lady in church, and then reflects that to a louse we are all equal prey, and that we would be disabused of our pretensions if we were to see ourselves through each other's eyes. On Seeing a Wounded Hare Limp by Me, which a Fellow had Just Shot (1789) is the author's address to a hare shot by a hunter, and comment on man's cruelty. Address to the Tooth-ache (1797) is a poem about how while toothache is considered relatively mild in comparison to other illnesses and diseases, in reality it is the worst one of them all. Address to the Deil (1785) is a humorous portrayal of the Devil and the pulpit oratory of the Presbyterian Church. Tam o' Shanter, A Tale (1790) is a poem about a selfish farmer who often gets drunk with his friends in a public house in the Scottish town of Ayr, and of how one night whilst drunkenly headed for home, he accidentally stumbles on a Witches' Ball. Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous (1786) is a poem condemning hypocrisy, addressing those who do not find it enough to try to lead their own lives above reproach, but pass judgements on those who do not. Holy Willie's Prayer (1785) is a comment on religious hypocrisy and self-righteousness, being a prayer of Willie Fisher, an elder in the Parish church of Mauchline, in Ayrshire, who expects forgiveness and grace for himself, but wishes nothing but harm and revenge on all those whom he perceives have slighted him. Epitaph on Holy Willie (1785) follows up the story of Willie Fisher, and tells how his soul is claimed b the Devil after his death. Address to Edinburgh (1786) is an adoring ode to the beautiful city of Edinburgh and all its cultural importance and history. SONGS: Mary Morison (1785) is a loving address to a beautiful girl (hypothesized to be the daughter of Adjutant John Morison of Mauchline, whom the author admired when she was sixteen). Ae Fond Kiss (1791) is a song Burns wrote to Mrs Agnes Maclehose, with whom he had a regular (although platonic) correspondence, before she departed Edinburgh for Jamaica to be with her estranged husband. My Luve is like a Red, Red Rose (1794) is one of the many famous Scottish folk songs that Burns preserved, being a love poem describing a tender feeling towards the beloved. Sweet Afton (1791) is a song describing the small river of Afton Water in Ayrshire, Scotland, and is a hymn for peace. John Anderson My Jo (1789) is a loving song written for a Scottish carpenter who was a close friend of Burns. Highland Mary (1792) is a song to Mary Campbell, with whom Burns was in love, and speaks of Burns's affection for and his continued memory of her, as well as his melancholy at her death. The Banks o' Doon (1791) is a melancholy song about an unfaithful lover, and contemplation thereof on the banks of the the river Doon in Ayrshire, Scotland. A Rosebud by My Early Walk (1787) is a song about an early morning walk and the beauty of awakening nature, dedicated to dedicated 12-year-old Miss Jean Cruickshank, the daughter of the Latin master at the High School of Edinburgh who performed Burns's songs whilst accompanying herself on the piano. The Birks of Aberfeldy (1787) is a song celebrating the beauty of nature, inspired by the Falls of Moness and the birch trees of Aberfeldy. O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast (1796) is a song written for Jessy Lewars, who helped the Burns family during his final illness and his wife's confinement, describing his willingness to repay his debt of gratitude. O Whistle an' I'll Come to Ye, My Lad (1793) is a song from a young woman to her love, encouraging him to court her inconspicuously, but not to let his eye stray to anyone else. Of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw (1788) is a song written during Burns's honeymoon to his wife Jean Armour, about his love for her. Tam Glen (1789) is a song of a woman addressing her sister and telling her of Tam Glen, a young, poor, good-hearted man she is in love with and hopes to marry, even though she has had offers from richer men and is discouraged by her parents. My Bonnie Mary (The Silver Tassie) (1788) is a song about going off to war and leaving his sweetheart behind. The Country Lassie (1792) is another song dedicated to Burns's love Mary Campbell, who passed away young, that talks about fortunes keeping Burns away from her, but his heart and confidence in hers remaining true. The Bonie Lass o' Ballochmyle (1786) is a song Burns penned after meeting and being deeply impressed by Wilhelmina Alexander, the sister of the landowner, while walking by the banks of Ayr. I'm O'er Young to Marry yet (1788) is a song of a young woman who is making her case that she is too young to marry and be taken away from her mother yet. Duncan Gray (1792) is a song about Duncan Gray trying to woo the proud Maggie, who is too proud and fickle to accept, until both of their circumstances change. Green Grow the Rashes (1783) is a song that postulates that the happiest, most carefree hours are spent in the company of the opposite sex. I'll Ay Ca' in by Yon Town (1795) is a song from a young admirer to his lady love about coming to see her in her town. Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes (1789) is a celebration of a beautiful nature scene, and an expression of love to a sweetheart. Willie Wastle (1792) is a song about Willie Wastle, a weaver who has an ill-tempered, disgusting, and unattractive wife. My Heart's in the Highlands (1789) is a song that says farewell to the Highlinds, and outlines the author's love for their majestic beauty. There was a Lad (1787) is a song about the birth of Robin, and a prophesy told on his birth that he will grow up to greatness (there is an unsubstantiated myth that a similar pronouncement was made upon Burns's birth). John Barleycorn: A Ballad (1782) is a song that personifies barley, with John represented as suffering attacks, death and indignities that correspond to the various stages of barley cultivation. Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut (1789) is a song about the gathering of the poet for a house-warming with Allan Masterton (the composer for the song) and William Nicol on the property of Laggan in Nithsdale that Burns convinced Nicol to buy. The Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman (1792) posits that excisemen (those who collected taxes on alcohol and chased smugglers) were evil men who deserved to be taken by the Devil to the joy of all the people (although Burns was an exceseman himself at the time of writing this song). A Man's a Man for a' That (Is There for Honest Poverty) (1795) explores an egalitarian idea of society, where all men, no matter class or status, are all still equally men, for all that. Auld Lang Syne (1788) is a song that bids farewell to the old year at the stroke of midnight.McPherson's Farewell (1788) is a poem that allegedly retells the actual final goodbye that a noble outlaw James MacPherson wrote on the eve of his execution. Robert Bruce's Address to His Troops at Bannockburn (Scots Wha Hae) (1793) is a patriotic song written in the form of a speech given by Robert the Bruce before the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, where Scotland maintained its sovereignty from the Kingdom of England. Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the Approach of Spring (1791) is a song written as Mary's last lament at her imprisonment, her hate for Elizabeth I, and her wishes for her son to have a luckier fate than her own. The Braes o' Killiecrankie (1789) is a song about the Battle of Killiecrankie, which was part of the Jacobite rebellion and was fought in 1689. Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation (1791) is a song that decried those members of the Parliament of Scotland who signed the Act of Union with England in 1707, some of whom were said to have been bribed.Charlie, He's My Darling (1794) is a song from a girl to her lover that is a celebration of the Jacobite movement. PSALMS: Paraphrase of the First Psalm (1781) is a song that literally restructures and rephrases the first Psalm in the Book of Psalms, which talks about the kind of life a man must lead to be either rewarded or punished at the end of his life (The Way of the Righteous and the End of the Ungodly). The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm (1781) is a retelling and restructuring of the 90th Psalm in the Book of Psalms (These are Words that Moses Prayed), describing God and his power and glory. PRAYERS: Prayer, in the Prospect of Death (1781) is a poem written as a prayer of a man faced with death, and him asking forgiveness of God for his impassioned, wild nature. Prayer, under the Pressure of Violent Anguish (1781) is a prayer of a man going through very tough times, asking God to either spare him his pain, or give him the strength to bear it.
My rating: 8.5/10
My review: It takes a little while to get used to the Scottish dialect that Burns uses for a lot of his poems.
♥ from TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH
...The flaunting flow'es our Gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.
...Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betray'd,
And guileless trust;
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!
Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n
To Mis'ry's brink;
Till, wtrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruin'd, sink!
Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine - no distant date;
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall by thy doom!
♥ from TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH
...I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
...But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
♥ from THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT
My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary Bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise:
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays.
...Oh happy love! where love like this is found;
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,
And sage Experience bids me this declare -
'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest Pair
In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale.'
...Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King,
The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays:
Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing',
That thus they all shall meet in future days,
There, ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together rhyming their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere
Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art;
When men display to congregations wide
Devotions's ev'ry grace, except the heart!
The Power, incens'd, the Pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some Cottage far apart,
May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the Soul;
And in His Book of Life the Inmates poor enroll.
...O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous Populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle.
O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide,
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart,
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part:
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never Scotia's realm desert;
But still the Patriot, and the Patriot-bard
In bright succession raise, her Ornament and Guard!
♥ from ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS
...Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
♥ from TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH
...O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n Devotion!
♥ from ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE
...Whare'er that place be, priests ca' hell,
Whare a' the tones o' misery yell,
An' plagues in ranked number tell,
In dreadfu' raw,
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell,
Aboon them a'!
♥ from ADDRESS TO THE DEIL
...Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey, a' holes and corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wind'd Tempest flyin,
Tirlan the kirks;
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.
♥ from TAM O'SHANTER, A TALE
...While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
...Ah! gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
...But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white - then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evenishing amid the storm. -
...Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. -
By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. -
...By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted;
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
...It was her best, and she was vauntie. -
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
We' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
♥ from ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS
...Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord its various tone,
Each spring its various bias:
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
♥ ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH
Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once beneath a Monarch's feet,
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,
I shelter in thy honor'd shade.
Here Wealth still swells the golden tide,
As busy Trade his labours plies;
There Architecture's noble pride
Bids elegance and splendour rise;
Here Justice, from her native skies,
High wields her balance and her rod;
There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
Seeks Science in her coy abode.
Thy sons, Edina, social, kind,
With open arms the Stranger hail;
Their views enlarg'd, their liberal mind,
Above the narrow, rural vale:
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail,
Or modest Merit's silent claim;
And never may their sources fail!
And never Envy blot their name!
Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn,
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn,
Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy!
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough, rude Fortress gleams afar;
Like some bold Vet'ran, grey in arms,
And mark'd with many a seamy scar:
The pond'rous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,
Have oft withstood assailing War,
And oft repell'd th' Invader's shock.
With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately Dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Fam'd heroes! had their royal home:
Alas, how chang'd the times to come!
Their royal Name low in the dust!
Their hapless Race wild-wand'ring roam!
Tho' rigid Law cries out, 'twas just!
Wild-beats my heart, to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore,
Haply my Sires have left their shed,
And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your Fathers led!
Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs;
Where once, beneath a Monatch's feet,
Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs!
From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs.
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,
I shelter in thy honour'd shade.
♥ from AE FOND KISS
...Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met - or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted!
Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, Alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
♥ from SWEET AFTON
...Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet River, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
♥ from THE BANKS O' DOON
...Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause Luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
♥ from THE COUNTRY LASSIE
...O gear will buy me rigs o' land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye:
But the tender heart o' leesome loove,
The gowd and siller canna buy:
We may be poor, Robie and I,
Light is the burden Loove lays on;
Content and Loove bring peace and joy,
What mair hae queens upon a throne?
♥ from THE BONNIE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE
...Her look was like the Morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile:
The lilies' hue and roses' dye
Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle.
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
And sweet an ev'n in Autumn mild;
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But Woman, Nature's darling child,
There all her charms she does compile,
And there her other works are foil'd
By the bonie Lass o' Ballochmyle.
...The Pride might climb the slipp'ry steep
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And Thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward seek the Indian mine:
Give me the Cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the soil;
And ev'ry day have joys divine
With the bonie Lass o' Ballochmyle.
♥ from GREEN GROW THE RASHES
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na foe the lasses, O.
Chorus
Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.
...For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest Man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely Dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
♥ from CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES
...We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Thro' the hazels spreading wide
O'er the waves that sweetly glide,
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonger Clouden's silent towers,
Where, at moonshine's midnight hours,
O'er the dewy-bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheary.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou'rt to Love and Heav'n sae dear,
Nocht of Ill may come thee near;
My bonie Dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die - but canna part,
My bonie Dearie.
♥ from MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth:
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
♥ JOHN BARLEYCORN: A BALLAD
There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
that no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd 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 appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a Miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae taen 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 prosperity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
♥ from A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT
...Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that?
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind,
He looks an' laughs at a' that.
A Prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' Sense, an' pride o' Worth
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may
As come it will for a' that,
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that.
It's comin yet for a' that,
That Man to Man the warld o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.
♥ from AULD LANG SYNE
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
Chorus
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
...And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.
♥ from MCPHERSON'S FAREWELL
...Now farewell, light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
♥ from ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS TROOPS AT BANNOCKBURN
...Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn, and flie.
Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa',
Let him follow me.
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!!
♥ from THE LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING
...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.
...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 o' death,
Let Winter round me rave;
And the next flowers that deck the Spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
♥ SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION
Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story!
Now Sark rins over the Solway sands,
An' Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark whare England's province stands -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
What force or guile could not subdue
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
O would, or I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration:
We're bought and sold for English gold -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
♥ from PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH
...Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With Passions wild and strong;
And list'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,
Do Thou, All-Good, for such Thou art,
In shades of darkness hide.
Where with intention I have err'd
No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.