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To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough

By |2018-11-12T18:26:16+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need nastart awasaehasty, Wi' bickeringbrattle! I wadbe laithto rinan' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle! I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I [...]

Young Peggy Blooms

By |2018-11-12T18:26:20+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With early gems adorning. Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has [...]

Halloween^1

By |2018-11-12T18:26:15+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans^2dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, Beneath the moon's pale beams; There, up the Cove,^3to stray an' rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night; Amang the bonie winding banks, Where Doon [...]

Holy Willie’s Prayer

By |2018-11-12T18:26:16+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Argument. Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline-a Mr.Gavin Hamilton-Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, [...]

Rantin’, Rovin’ Robin

By |2018-11-12T18:26:20+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

There was a lad was born in Kyle, But whatna day o' whatnastyle, I doubt it's hardly worththe while To be saenice wi'Robin. Chor. - Robin was a rovin' boy, Rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin', Robin was a rovin' boy, Rantin', rovin', Robin! Our monarch's hindmost year but ane Was five-and-twenty days begun^2, 'Twas then a [...]

Scotch Drink

By |2018-11-12T18:26:16+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Let other poets raisea fracas "Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, An' crabbit names an'stories wrack us, An' grate our lug: I sing the juice Scotch bearcan mak us, In glass or jug. O thou, my muse! guidauld Scotch drink! Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, Or, richly brown, reamowre the brink, In glorious [...]

Second Epistle to Davie

By |2018-11-12T18:26:14+00:00November 10th, 2018|1785, Epistle, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Auld Neibour, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter; Tho' I maun say't I doubt ye flatter, Ye speak sae fair; For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter Some less maunsair. Hale be your heart, halebe your fiddle, Langmay your elbuckjinkdiddle, To cheer you thro' the weary widdle O' war'ly cares; [...]