The Poet’s Reply To The Threat Of A Censorious Critic
With Esop's lion, Burns says: Sore I feel Each other's scorn, butdamn that ass' heel!
The Young Highland Rover
Loud blawthe frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May heaven be his warden; Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonie Castle-Gordon! The trees, now naked groaning, Shall soon wi'leaves be hinging, The birdies
Theniel Menzies’ Bonie Mary
In comin bythe brigo' Dye, At Darlet we a blinkdid tarry; As day was dawnin in the sky, We drank a health to bonie Mary. Chorus.-Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Charlie Grigor tinthis plaidie, Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary. Her eensae bright, her brow saewhite, Her haffetlocks as brown's a berry; And aye
To Miss Ferrier
Nae heathen name shall I prefix, FraePindus orParnassus; Auld Reekiedings them a' to sticks, For rhyme-inspiring lasses. Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three Made Homer deep their debtor; But, gienthe bodyhalf ane'e, Nine Ferriers waddone better! Last day my mindwas in a bog, Down George's Street I stoited; A creeping cauldprosaic fog My very sense
To Miss Logan, With Beattie’s Poems, For A New-Year’s Gift, Jan. 1, 1787
Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heaven. Nogifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail; I send you more than India boasts, In Edwin's simple tale. Our sex with guile, and faithless love, Is charg'd, perhaps
Verses Intended To Be Written Below A Noble Earl’s Picture^1
Whose is that noble, dauntless brow? And whose that eye of fire? And whose that generous princely mien, E'enrooted foes admire? Stranger! to justly show that brow, And mark that eye of fire, Would take His hand, whose vernal tints His other works admire. Bright as a cloudless summer sun, With stately port he moves;
Verses Written With A Pencil Over the Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Tillfam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. - The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, The woods wild scatter'd, clothe
Written By Somebody On The Window Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin.
Here Stuarts once in glory reigned, And laws for Scotland's weal ordained; Butnow unroof'd their palace stands, Their sceptre's sway'd byother hands; Fallen indeed, and to the earth Whence groveling reptiles take their birth. The injured Stuart line is gone, A race outlandish fills their throne; Anidiot race, to honour lost; Who know them best
The Bonie Moor-Hen
The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn, Our lads gaeda-hunting aeday at the dawn, O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, At length they discover'd a bonie moor-hen. Chorus.-I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men, I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men; Take some on the wing, and
The Book-Worms
Through and throughth' inspir'd leaves, Ye maggots, make your windings; ButO respect his lordship's taste, And spare his golden bindings.