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Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear

2018-11-12T18:25:54+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Ah, woe is me, my mother dear! A man of strife ye've born me: For saircontention I maunbear; They hate, revile, and scorn me. I ne'er could lend on billorband, That five per cent. might blest me; And borrowing, on the titherhand, The deila anewadtrust me. Yet I, a coin-denied wight, By Fortune quite discarded;

Handsome Nell^1

2018-11-12T18:25:55+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Once I lov'd a bonie lass, Ay, and I love her still; And whilst that virtue warms my breast, I'll love my handsome Nell. As bonie lasses I haeseen, And mony full as braw; But, for a modest gracefu' mein, The like I never saw. A bonielass, I will confess, Is pleasant to the e'e;

I Dream’d I Lay

2018-11-12T18:25:55+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam; List'ning to the wild birds singing, Bya falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; Tress with aged arms were warring, O'er the swelling drumliewave. Such was my life's deceitful morning, Such the pleasures

Montgomerie’s Peggy

2018-11-12T18:25:55+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Altho' my bed were in yonmuir, Amangthe heather, in my plaidie; Yet happy, happy would I be, Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. When o'er the hill beat surly storms, And winter nights were dark and rainy; I'd seek some dell, and in my arms I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. Were I a baron proud

Ploughman’s Life, The

2018-11-12T18:25:54+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

As I was a-wand'ring aemorning in spring, I heard a young ploughman saesweetly to sing; And as he was singin', thirwords he did say, - There's naelife like the ploughman's in the month o'sweet May. The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise fraeher nest, And mount i'the airwi' the dew on her breast, And wi'the

Tarbolton Lasses, The

2018-11-12T18:25:54+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, Ye'll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth's a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, Besides a handsome fortune: Whacannawinher in a night, Has little art in courtin'. Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, And taka look o'

Tragic Fragment

2018-11-12T18:25:54+00:00Categories: 1771-1779, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

All devil as I am-a damned wretch, A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting villain, Still my heart melts at human wretchedness; And with sincere but unavailing sighs I view the helpless children of distress: With tears indignant I behold the oppressor Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. - Ev'n you,

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