Ca’ The Yowes To The Knowes

By |2018-11-12T18:27:31+00:00November 12th, 2018|1789, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

"Chorus.-Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnierowes, My boniedearie As I gaeddown the water-side, There I met my shepherd lad: He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, And he ca'd me his dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c. Will ye gang down the water-side, And see [...]

To Miss Cruickshank, a very Young Lady

By |2018-11-12T18:27:30+00:00November 10th, 2018|1789, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Beauteous Rosebud, young and gay, Blooming in thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flower, Chilly shrink in sleety shower! Never Boreas' hoary path, Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, Never baleful stellar lights, Taint thee with untimely blights! Never, never reptile thief Riot on thy virgin leaf! Nor even Sol too fiercely view Thy bosom blushing [...]

The Whistle -A Ballad

By |2018-11-12T18:27:13+00:00November 10th, 2018|1789, Ballad, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King, And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his [...]

The Wounded Hare

By |2018-11-12T18:27:29+00:00November 10th, 2018|1789, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! Go live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field! The bitter little that of life remains: No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee a [...]

To Mary In Heaven

By |2018-11-12T18:27:30+00:00November 10th, 2018|1789, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Thou ling'ring star, with lessening ray, That lov'st to greetthe early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can [...]

Sketch In Verse

By |2018-11-12T18:27:31+00:00November 10th, 2018|1789, Robert Burns Poems, Sketch, Type, Year|

How wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite, How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white, How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, I care not, not I-let the Critics go whistle! But now for a Patron whose [...]