heav'n bless your honour'd noble name,
to masonry and scotia dear!
a last request permit me here,—
when yearly ye assemble a',
one round, i ask it with a tear,
to him, the bard that's far awa.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns on a scotch bard, gone to the west indies on a scotch bard, gone to the west indies
a' ye wha live by sowps o' drink,
a' ye wha live by crambo-clink,
a' ye wha live and never think,
e, mourn wi' me!
our billie 's gien us a' a jink,
an' owre the sea!
lament him a' ye rantin core,
wha dearly like a random splore;
nae mair he'll join the merry roar;
in social key;
for now he's taen anither shore.
an' owre the sea!
the bonie lasses weel may wiss him,
and in their dear petitions place him:
the widows, wives, an' a' may bless him
wi' tearfu' e'e;
for weel i wat they'll sairly miss him
that's owre the sea!
o fortune, they hae room to grumble!
hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,
wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble,
'twad been nae plea;
but he was gleg as ony wumble,
that's owre the sea!
auld, cantie kyle may weepers wear,
an' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear;
'twill mak her poor auld heart, i fear,
in flinders flee:
he was her laureat mony a year,
that's owre the sea!
he saw misfortune's cauld nor-west
lang mustering up a bitter blast;
a jillet brak his heart at last,
ill may she be!
so, took a berth afore the mast,
an' owre the sea.
to tremble under fortune's cummock,
on a scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
wi' his proud, independent stomach,
could ill agree;
so, row't his hurdies in a hammock,
an' owre the sea.
he ne'er was gien to great misguidin,
yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;
wi' him it ne'er was under hiding;
he dealt it free:
the muse was a' that he took pride in,
that's owre the sea.
jamaica bodies, use him weel,
an' hap him in cozie biel:
ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,
an' fou o' glee:
he wad na wrang'd the vera deil,
that's owre the sea.
farewell, my rhymeposing billie!
your native soil was right ill-willie;
but may ye flourish like a lily,
now bonilie!
i'll toast you in my hindmost gillie,
tho' owre the sea!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns song—farewell to eliza song—farewell to eliza
tune—“gilderoy.”
from thee, eliza, i must go,
and from my native shore;
the cruel fates between us throw
a boundless ocean's roar:
but boundless oceans, roaring wide,
between my love and me,
they never, never can divide
my heart and soul from thee.
farewell, farewell, eliza dear,
the maid that i adore!
a boding voice is in mine ear,
we part to meet no more!
but the latest throb that leaves my heart,
while death stands victor by,—
that throb, eliza, is thy part,
and thine that latest sigh!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns a bards epitaph a bard's epitaph
is there a whim-inspired fool,
owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
let him draw near;
and owre this grassy heap sing dool,
and drap a tear.
is there a bard of rustic song,
who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
that weekly this area throng,
o, pass not by!
but, with a frater-feeling strong,
here, heave a sigh.
is there a man, whose judgment clear
can others teach the course to steer,
yet runs, himself, life's mad career,
wild as the wave,
here pause—and, thro' the starting tear,
survey this grave.
the poor inhabitant below
was quick to learn the wise to know,
and keenly felt the friendly glow,
and softer flame;
but thoughtless follies laid him low,
and stain'd his name!
reader, attend! whether thy soul
soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
in low pursuit:
know, prudent, cautious, self-control
is wisdom's root.
epitaph for robert aiken, esq.
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.
epitaph for gavin hamilton, esq.
the poor man weeps—here gavin sleeps,
whom canting wretches blam'd;
but with such as he, where'er he be,
may i be sav'd or damn'd!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns epitaph on “wee johnie” epitaph on “wee johnie”
hic jacet wee johnie.
whoe'er thou art, o reader, know
that death has murder'd johnie;
an' here his body lies fu' low;
for saul he ne'er had ony.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the lass o ballochmyle the lass o' ballochmyle
tune—“ettrick banks.”
'twas even—the dewy fields were green,
on every blade the pearls hang;
the zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
and bore its fragrant sweets alang:
in ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
all nature list'ning seem'd the while,
except where greenwood echoes rang,
amang the braes o' ballochmyle.
with careless step i onward stray'd,
my heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
when, musing in a lonely glade,
a maiden fair i chanc'd to spy:
her look was like the morning's eye,
her air like nature's vernal smile:
perfection whisper'd, passing by,
“behold the lass o' ballochmyle!”
fair is the morn in flowery may,
and sweet is night 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 doespile;
even there her other works are foil'd
by the bonie lass o' ballochmyle.
o, had she been a country maid,
and i the happy country swain,
tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
that ever rose on scotland's plain!
thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
with joy, with rapture, i would toil;
and nightly to my bosom strain
the bonie lass o' ballochmyle.
then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,
where frame 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.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns lines to an old sweetheart lines to an old sweetheart
once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear,
sweet early object of my youthful vows,
accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,
friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.
and when you read the simple artless rhymes,
one friendly sigh for him—he asks no more,
who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes,
or haply lies beneath th' atlantic roar.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns motto prefixed to the authors first publication motto prefixed to the author's first publication
the simple bard, unbroke by rules of art,
he pours the wild effusions of the heart;
and if inspir'd 'tis nature's pow'rs inspire;
her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling fire.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns lines to mr. john kennedy lines to mr. john kennedy
farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
and 'mang her favourites admit you: