nay, what are priests? (those seeming godly wise-men,)
what are they, pray, but spiritual excisemen!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns extempore reply to an invitation extempore reply to an invitation
the king's most humble servant, i
can scarcely spare a minute;
but i'll be wi' you by an' by;
or else the deil's be in it.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns grace after meat grace after meat
lord, we thank, and thee adore,
for temporal gifts we little merit;
at present we will ask no more—
let william hislop give the spirit.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns grace before and after meat grace before and after meat
o lord, when hunger pinches sore,
do thou stand us in stead,
and send us, from thy bounteous store,
a tup or wether head! amen.
o lord, since we have feasted thus,
which we so little merit,
let meg now take away the flesh,
and jock bring in the spirit! amen.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns impromptu on general dumouriers desertion from the french republican army impromptu on general dumourier's desertion from the french republican army
you're wee to despots, dumourier;
you're wee to despots, dumourier:
how does dampiere do?
ay, and bournonville too?
why did they note along with you, dumourier?
i will fight france with you, dumourier;
i will fight france with you, dumourier;
i will fight france with you,
i will take my chance with you;
by my soul, i'll dance with you, dumourier.
then let us fight about, dumourier;
then let us fight about, dumourier;
then let us fight about,
till freedom's spark be out,
then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, dumourier.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the last time i came oer the moor the last time i came o'er the moor
the last time i came o'er the moor,
and left maria's dwelling,
what throes, what tortures passing cure,
were in my bosom swelling:
condemn'd to see my rival's reign,
while i in secret languish;
to feel a fire in every vein,
yet dare not speak my anguish.
love's veriest wretch, despairing, i
fain, fain, my crime would cover;
th' unweeting groan, the bursting sigh,
betray the guilty lover.
i know my doom must be despair,
thou wilt nor canst relieve me;
but oh, maria, hear my prayer,
for pity's sake forgive me!
the music of thy tongue i heard,
nor wist while it enslav'd me;
i saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
till fear no more had sav'd me:
the unwary sailor thus, aghast,
the wheeling torrent viewing,
'mid circling horrors yields at last
to overwhelming ruin.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns logan braes logan braes
tune—“logan water.”
o logan, sweetly didst thou glide,
that day i was my willie's bride,
and years sin syne hae o'er us run,
like logan to the simmer sun:
but now thy flowery banks appear
like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
while my dear lad maun face his faes,
far, far frae me and logan braes.
again the merry month of may
has made our hills and valleys gay;
the birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
the bees hum round the breathing flowers;
blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
and evening's tears are tears o' joy:
my soul, delightless a' surveys,
while willie's far frae logan braes.
within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
amang her nestlings sits the thrush:
her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
or wi' his song her cares beguile;
but i wi' my sweet nurslings here,
nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
while willie's far frae logan braes.
o wae be to you, men o' state,
that brethren rouse to deadly hate!
as ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
sae may it on your heads return!
how can your flinty hearts enjoy
the widow's tear, the orphan's cry?
but soon may peace bring happy days,
and willie hame to logan braes!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns blythe hae i been on yon hill blythe hae i been on yon hill
tune—“the quaker's wife.”
blythe hae i been on yon hill,
as the lambs before me;
careless ilka thought and free,
as the breeze flew o'er me;
now nae langer sport and play,
mirth or sang can please me;
lesley is sae fair and coy,
care and anguish seize me.
heavy, heavy is the task,
hopeless love declaring;
trembling, i dow nocht but glow'r,
sighing, dumb despairing!
if she winna ease the thraws
in my bosom swelling,
underneath the grass-green sod,
soon maun be my dwelling.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o were my love yon lilac fair o were my love yon lilac fair
air—“hughie graham.”
o were my love yon lilac fair,
wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
and i, a bird to shelter there,
when wearied on my little wing!
how i wad mourn when it was torn
by autumn wild, and winter rude!
but i wad sing on wanton wing,
when youthfu' may its bloom renew'd.
o gin my love were yon red rose,
that grows upon the castle wa';
and i myself a drap o' dew,
into her bonie breast to fa'!
o there, beyond expression blest,
i'd feast on beauty a' the night;
seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
till fley'd awa by phoebus' light!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns bonie jean—a ballad bonie jean—a ballad
to its ain tune.
there was a lass, and she was fair,
at kirk or market to be seen;
when a' our fairest maids were met,
the fairest maid was bonie jean.
and aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
and aye she sang sae merrilie;
the blythest bird upon the bush
had ne'er a lighter heart than she.
but hawks will rob the tender joys
that bless the little lintwhite's nest;
and frost will blight the fairest flowers,
and love will break the soundest rest.
young robie was the brawest lad,
the flower and pride of a' the glen;
and he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
and wanton naigies nine or ten.
he gaed wi' jeanie to the tryste,
he danc'd wi' jeanie on the down;
and, lang ere witless jeanie wist,
her heart was tint, her peace was stown!
as in the bosom of the stream,
the moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en;
so trembling, pure, was tender love
within the breast of bonie jean.
and now she works her mammie's wark,
and aye she sighs wi' care and pain;
yet wist na what her ail might be,
or what wad make her weel again.
but did na jeanie's heart loup light,
and didna joy blink in her e'e,
as robie tauld a tale o' love
ae e'ening on the lily lea?
the sun was sinking in the west,
the birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
his cheek to hers he fondly laid,
and whisper'd thus his tale o' love:
“o jeanie fair, i lo'e thee dear;
o canst thou think to fancy me,
or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
and learn to tent the farms wi' me?
“at barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
or naething else to trouble thee;
but stray amang the heather-bells,
and tent the waving corn wi' me.”
now what could artless jeanie do?
she had nae will to say him na:
at length she blush'd a sweet consent,
and love was aye between them twa.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns lines on john mmurdo, esq. lines on john m'murdo, esq.
blest be m'murdo to his latest day!
no envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;