Robert Burns

“ Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't, An' sing't when we hae done. It's no in titles nor in rank; It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, To purchase peace and rest: It's no in makin' muckle, mair; It's no in books, it's no in lear, To make us truly blest: If happiness hae not her seat An' centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest; Nae treasures, nor pleasures Could make us happy lang; The heart aye's the part aye That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge an' drive thro' wet and dry, Wi' never-ceasing toil ”

“ If my son should happen to be a man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet little fellow, who is just now running about my desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing heart; and an imagination, delighted with the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of spring; himself the while in the blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and through nature up to nature’s God. ”

“ Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice; O
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther; O
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me; O
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly; O
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardour, O
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther ”

“ We'll ne'er forget The People!
Address To The Woodlark Tune—“Loch Erroch Side.” O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch her heart Wha kills me wi' disdaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind? Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, Sic notes o' woe could wauken! Thou tells o' never-ending care; O'speechless grief, and dark despair: For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair! ”

“ He had, when a lad at the plough, an eloquent word and an inspired song for every fair face that smiled on him, and a sharp sarcasm or a fierce lampoon for every rustic who thwarted or contradicted him. As his first inspiration came from love, he continued through life to love on, and was as ready with the lasting incense of the muse for the ladies of Nithsdale as for the lasses of Kyle: his earliest song was in praise of a young girl who reaped by his side, when he was seventeen—his latest in honour of a lady by whose side he had wandered and dreamed on the banks of the Devon. ”

“ Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we've lost! Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light! Mourn, Empress of the silent night! And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, My Matthew mourn! For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, Ne'er to return. O Henderson! the man! the brother! And art thou gone, and gone for ever! And hast thou crost that unknown river, Life's dreary bound! Like thee, where shall I find another, The world around! Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, In a' the tinsel trash o' state! ”

“ I do not make my progress among mankind as a bowl does among its fellows—rolling through the crowd without bearing away any mark of impression, except where they hit in hostile collision.
I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks by bad weather; and as you and your sister once did me the honour of interesting yourselves much à l’égard de moi, I sit down to beg the continuation of your goodness. I can truly say that, all the exterior of life apart, I never saw two, whose esteem flattered the nobler feelings of my soul—I will not say more, but so much as Lady Mackenzie and Miss Chalmers. ”

“ In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde There sits an isle of high degree, And a town of fame whose princely name Should grace the Lass of Albany. But there's a youth, a witless youth, That fills the place where she should be; We'll send him o'er to his native shore, And bring our ain sweet Albany. Alas the day, and woe the day, A false usurper wan the gree, Who now commands the towers and lands— The royal right of Albany. We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray, On bended knees most fervently, The time may come, with pipe an' drum We'll welcome hame fair Albany. ”

“ For me, I am just the same will-o’-wisp being I used to be. About the first and fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in for the trade wind of wisdom: but about the full and change, I am the luckless victim of mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. Almighty love still reigns and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment ready to hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow, who has wit and wisdom more murderously fatal than the assassinating stiletto of the Sicilian banditti, or the poisoned arrow of the savage African. ”

“ But spare and pardon my fause Love, His wrangs to Heaven and me.
Open The Door To Me, Oh Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, oh: The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh. The wan Moon is setting beyond the white wave, And Time is setting with me, oh: False friends, false love, farewell! for mair I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh. ”

“ O once I lov’d a bonnie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that honour warms my breast,
I’ll love my handsome Nell.
II.
As bonnie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But for a modest gracefu’ mien
The like I never saw.
III.
A bonnie lass, I will confess, Is pleasant to the e’e, But without some better qualities She’s no a lass for me. IV.
But Nelly’s looks are blithe and sweet, And what is best of a’, Her reputation is complete, And fair without a flaw. ”

“ Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Chill came the tempest's lour; (And ne'er Misfortune's eastern blast Did nip a fairer flower.) Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still much is left behind, Still nobler wealth hast thou in store— The comforts of the mind! Thine is the self-approving glow, Of conscious Honour's part; And (dearest gift of Heaven below) Thine Friendship's truest heart. The joys refin'd of Sense and Taste, With every Muse to rove: And doubly were the Poet blest, These joys could he improve. ”

“ I will not present you with the unmeaning compliments of the season, but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a Knave, or set your character on the judgment of a Fool; but that, upright and erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall say, here lies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall say, here lies a man who did honour to human nature. ”

“ As o'er the moor they lightly foor, A burn was clear, a glen was green, Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks, And aye she set the wheel between: But Duncan swoor a haly aith, That Meg should be a bride the morn; Then Meg took up her spinning-graith, And flang them a' out o'er the burn. We will big a wee, wee house, And we will live like king and queen; Sae blythe and merry's we will be, When ye set by the wheel at e'en. A man may drink, and no be drunk; A man may fight, and no be slain; A man may kiss a bonie lass, And aye be welcome back again! ”

“ I am once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my own hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and particularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster, that my evil genius had in store for me. However, life is chequered—joy and sorrow—for on Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of a fine boy; rather stouter, but not so handsome as your godson was at his time of life. Indeed I look on your little namesake to be my chef d’œuvre in that species of manufacture, as I look on Tam o’ Shanter to be my standard performance in the poetical line. ”

“ 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 does compile; 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. ”

“ Dumfries, 1793.
Will Mr. M’Murdo do me the favour to accept of these volumes; a trifling but sincere mark of the very high respect I bear for his worth as a man, his manners as a gentleman, and his kindness as a friend. However inferior now, or afterwards, I may rank as a poet; one honest virtue to which few poets can pretend, I trust I shall ever claim as mine:—to no man, whatever his station in life, or his power to serve me, have I ever paid a compliment at the expense of truth. ”

“ Farewell, my rhyme-composing 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!
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! ”

“ The welfare of those who are very dear to us, whose only support, hope and stay we are—this, to a generous mind, is another sort of more important object of care than any concerns whatever which centre merely in the individual. On the other hand, let no young, unmarried, rakehelly dog among you, make a song of his pretended liberty and freedom from care. If the relations we stand in to king, country, kindred, and friends, be anything but the visionary fancies of dreaming metaphysicians; if religion, virtue, magnanimity, generosity, humanity and justice, be aught but empty sounds ”

“ The Kettle o' the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in't; But deil a foreign tinkler loun Shall ever ca'a nail in't. Our father's blude the Kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it; By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it! By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it! The wretch that would a tyrant own, And the wretch, his true-born brother, Who would set the Mob aboon the Throne, May they be damn'd together! Who will not sing “God save the King,” Shall hang as high's the steeple; But while we sing “God save the King,” We'll ne'er forget The People! ”