capt. wm. roddirk, of corbiston.
light lay the earth on billy's breast,
his chicken heart so tender;
but build a castle on his head,
his scull will prop it under.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns on capt. lascelles on capt. lascelles
when lascelles thought fit from this world to depart,
some friends warmly thought of embalming his heart;
a bystander whispers—“pray don't make so much o't,
the subject is poison, no reptile will touch it.”
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns on wm. graham, esq., of mossknowe on wm. graham, esq., of mossknowe
“stop thief!” dame nature call'd to death,
as willy drew his latest breath;
how shall i make a fool again?
my choicest model thou hast ta'en.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns on john bushby, esq., tinwald downs on john bushby, esq., tinwald downs
here lies john bushby—honest man,
cheat him, devil—if you can!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns sonnet on the death of robert riddell sonnet on the death of robert riddell
of glenriddell and friars' carse.
no more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
nor pour your descant grating on my soul;
thou young-eyed spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
more wee were to me grim winter's wildest roar.
how can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes?
ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend!
how can i to the tuneful strain attend?
that strain flows round the untimely tomb where riddell lies.
yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,
and soothe the virtues weeping o'er his bier:
the man of worth—and hath not left his peer!
is in his “narrow house,” for ever darkly low.
thee, spring! again with joy shall others greet;
me, memory of my loss will only meet.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the lovely lass o inverness the lovely lass o' inverness
the lovely lass o' inverness,
nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
for, e'en to 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 growin' 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 mony a heart thou has made sair,
that ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!”
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns charlie, hes my darling charlie, he's my darling
'twas on a monday morning,
right early in the year,
that charlie came to our town,
the young chevalier.
chorus—an' charlie, he's my darling,
my darling, my darling,
charlie, he's my darling,
the young chevalier.
as he was walking up the street,
the city for to view,
o there he spied a bonie lass
the window looking through,
an' charlie, c.
sae light's he jumped up the stair,
and tirl'd at the pin;
and wha sae ready as hersel'
to let the laddie in.
an' charlie, c.
he set his jenny on his knee,
all in his highland dress;
for brawly weel he ken'd the way
to please a bonie lass.
an' charlie, c.
it's up yon heathery mountain,
an' down yon scroggie glen,
we daur na gang a milking,
for charlie and his men,
an' charlie, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns bannocks o bear meal bannocks o' bear meal
chorus—bannocks o' bear meal,
bannocks o' barley,
here's to the highlandman's
bannocks o' barley!
wha, in a brulyie, will
first cry a parley?
never the lads wi' the
bannocks o' barley,
bannocks o' bear meal, c.
wha, in his wae days,
were loyal to charlie?
wha but the lads wi' the
bannocks o' barley!
bannocks o' bear meal, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the highland balou the highland balou
hee balou, my sweet wee donald,
picture o' the great clanronald;
brawlie kens our wanton chief
wha gat my young highland thief.
leeze me on thy bonie craigie,
an' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie,
travel the country thro' and thro',
and bring hame a carlisle cow.
thro' the lawlands, o'er the border,
weel, my babie, may thou furder!
herry the louns o' the laigh countrie,
syne to the highlands hame to me.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the highland widows lament the highland widow's lament
oh i ame to the low countrie,
ochon, ochon, ochrie!
without a penny in my purse,
to buy a meal to me.
it was na sae in the highland hills,
ochon, ochon, ochrie!
nae woman in the country wide,
sae happy was as me.
for then i had a score o'kye,
ochon, ochon, ochrie!
feeding on you hill sae high,
and giving milk to me.
and there i had three score o'yowes,
ochon, ochon, ochrie!
skipping on yon bonie knowes,
and casting woo' to me.
i was the happiest of a' the clan,
sair, sair, may i repine;
for donald was the brawest man,
and donald he was mine.
till charlie stewart cam at last,
sae far to set us free;
my donald's arm was wanted then,
for scotland and for me.
their waefu' fate what need i tell,
right to the wrang did yield;
my donald and his country fell,
upon culloden field.
oh i ame to the low countrie,
ochon, ochon, ochrie!
nae woman in the warld wide,
sae wretched now as me.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns it was a for our rightfu king it was a' for our rightfu' king
it was a' for our rightfu' king
we left fair scotland's strand;
it was a' for our rightfu' king
we e'er saw irish land, my dear,
we e'er saw irish land.
now a' is done that men can do,
and a' is done in vain;
my love and native land fareweel,
for i maun cross the main, my dear,
for i maun cross the main.
he turn'd him right and round about,
upon the irish shore;
and gae his bridle reins a shake,
with adieu for evermore, my dear,
and adiue for evermore.
the soger frae the wars returns,
the sailor frae the main;
but i hae parted frae my love,
never to meet again, my dear,
never to meet again.
when day is gane, and night ise,
and a' folk bound to sleep;
i think on him that's far awa,
the lee-lang night, and weep, my dear,
the lee-lang night, and weep.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns ode for general washingtons birthday ode for general washington's birthday
no spartan tube, no attic shell,
no lyre aeolian i awake;
'tis liberty's bold note i swell,
thy harp, columbia, let me take!
see gathering thousands, while i sing,
a broken chain exulting bring,
and dash it in a tyrant's face,
and dare him to his very beard,
and tell him he no more is feared—
no more the despot of columbia's race!
a tyrant's proudest insults brav'd,
they shout—a people freed! they hail an empire saved.
where is man's god-like form?
where is that brow erect and bold—
that eye that can unmov'd behold
the wildest rage, the loudest storm
that e'er created fury dared to raise?
avaunt! thou caitiff, servile, base,
that tremblest at a despot's nod,
yet, crouching under the iron rod,
canst laud the hand that struck th' insulting blow!
art thou of man's imperial line?