1792 Archives - Page 3 of 3 - London Ceilidh Club: London Scots

Fragment Of Song

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:05+00:00Categories: 1792, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

No cold approach, no altered mien, Just what would make suspicion start; Nopause the dire extremes between, He made me blest-and broke my heart.

A Tippling Ballad

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:58+00:00Categories: 1792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

When Princes and Prelates, And hot-headed zealots, A'Europe had setin a low, a low, The poor man lies down, Nor envies a crown, And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow, And comforts himself as he dow. The black-headed eagle, As keen as a beagle, He hunted o'er height and o'er howe, In the

Auld Rob Morris

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:59+00:00Categories: 1792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yonglen, He's the King o' gudefellows, and waleo'auld men; He has gowdin his coffers, he has owsenand kine, And aebonielass, his dautie and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amangthe new hay; As blythe and as artless as the

Bessy And Her Spinnin’ Wheel

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:59+00:00Categories: 1792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

O Leeze me on my spinnin' wheel, And leeze me on my rockand reel; Fraetapto taethat cleeds me bien, And haps me bieland warm at e'en; I'll setme down and sing and spin, While laighdescends the simmersun, Blest wi' content, and milk and meal, O leeze me onmy spinnin' wheel. On ilka hand the burnies

Duncan Gray

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:59+00:00Categories: 1792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Duncan Gray cam' here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe Yule-night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Maggie coosther head fu'heigh, Look'd asklentand uncoskeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd; Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Meg was deaf as Ailsa

Epigram On Seeing Miss Fontenelle In A Favourite Character

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:58+00:00Categories: 1792, Epigram, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Epigram On Seeing Miss Fontenelle In A Favourite Character Sweet naivete of feature, Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, Thou art acting butthyself. Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, Spurning Nature, torturing art; Loves and Graces all rejected, Then indeed thou'd'st act a part.

Extempore On Some Commemorations Of Thomson

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:58+00:00Categories: 1792, Extempore, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Dost thou not rise, indignant shade, And smile wi' spurning scorn, When they whawadhae starved thy life, Thy senseless turf adorn? Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae, Wi'meiklehonest toil, And claughtth' unfading garland there- Thy sair-worn, rightful spoil. And wear it thou! and call aloud This axiom undoubted- Would thou hae Nobles' patronage? First learn

Here’s A Health To Them That’s Awa

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:59+00:00Categories: 1792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa; And wha winnawish gude luck to our cause, May never gude luck be their fa'! It's gude to be merry and wise, It's gude to be honest and true; It's gudeto support Caledonia's cause, And bidebythe buff and the blue. Here's