Year Archives - Page 8 of 56

To Dr. Maxwell

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:33+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, That merit I deny; You save fair Jessie from the grave!- AnAngel could not die!

To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J-N

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:33+00:001794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

How, Liberty! girl, can it be bythee nam'd? Equality too! hussey, art not asham'd? Free and Equal indeed, while mankind thou enchainest, And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest.

Wilt Thou Be My Dearie?

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:38+00:001794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Wilt thou be my Dearie? When Sorrow wring thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee! Bythe treasure of my soul, That's the love I bearthee: I swear and vow that only thou Shall ever be my Dearie! Only thou, I swear and vow, Shall ever be my Dearie! Lassie, say thou lo'es

Young Jamie, Pride Of A’ The Plain

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:39+00:001794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, Sae gallant and sae gay a swain, Thro' a' our lasses he did rove, And reign'd resistless King of Love. Butnow, wi'sighs and starting tears, He strays amangthe woods and breirs; Orin the glens and rocky caves, His sad complaining dowieraves:- "I whasae late did range and rove,

A Man’s A Man For A’ That

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:50+00:001795, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that. Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowdfor a' that. What though on hamely fare

Address To The Woodlark

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:39+00:001795, Address, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

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 wadtouch her heart Whakills me wi'disdaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the

Apology For Declining An Invitation To Dine

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:43+00:001795, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

No more of your guests, be they titled ornot, And cookery the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation.

Ballads on Mr. Heron’s Election, 1795

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:43+00:001795, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Whom will you send to London town, To Parliament and a' that? Or wha in a' the country round The best deserves to fa' that? For a' that, and a' that, Thro' Galloway and a' that, Where is the Lairdorbelted Knight The best deserves to fa' that? Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, (And wha is't

Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:43+00:001795, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Cauld is the e'enin blast, O'Boreas o'er the pool, An'dawin' it is dreary, When birks are bare at Yule. Cauldblaws the e'enin blast, When bitter bites the frost, And, in the mirkand dreary drift, The hills and glens are lost: Ne'er saemurky blew the night That drifted o'er the hill, ButboniePeg-a-Ramsay Gatgrist to her mill.

Compliments Of John Syme Of Ryedale

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:43+00:001795, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

O had the malt thy strength of mind, Orhops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind, A gift that e'enfor Syme were fit.