1794 Archives - Page 4 of 6

On Capt. Lascelles

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:31+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

When Lascelles thought fitfrom 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, noreptile will touch it."

On Chloris

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:31+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

From the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Chloris requested A sprig, her fair breast to adorn: No, byHeavens! I exclaim'd, let me perish, if ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!

On A Suicide

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:28+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Earth'd up, here lies animp o'hell, Planted bySatan's dibble; Poor silly wretch, he's damned himsel', To save the Lord the trouble.

Ode For General Washington’s Birthday

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:26+00:001794, Ode, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

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

My Nanie’s Awa

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:001794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes; While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, Butto me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they

Monody

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:27+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd; How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listen'd! If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; How doubly severer, Maria,

Lassie Wi’ The Lint-White Locks

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:001794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Chorus.-Lassie wi'the lint-whitelocks, Bonielassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi' me tentthe flocks, Wilt thou be my Dearie, O? Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, And a'is young and sweet like thee, O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O. Lassie wi' the, &c. The primrose bank, the wimpling

It Was A’ For Our Rightfu’ King

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:27+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

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'ersawIrish 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,

Inscription To Miss Graham Of Fintry

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:26+00:001794, Inscription, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined, Accept the gift; though humble he who gives, Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. So may noruffian-feeling in my breast, Discordant, jar thy bosom-chords among; ButPeace attune thy gentle soul to rest, Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song,

Inconstancy In Love

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:001794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Let not Woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not Woman e'ercomplain Fickle Man is apt to rove: Look abroad thro' Nature's range, Nature's mighty Law is change, Ladies, would it not seem strange Man should then a monster prove! Mark the winds, and markthe skies, Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow, Sun and moon