1793 Archives - Page 2 of 5 - London Ceilidh Club: London Scots

On Politics

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:12+00:00Categories: 1793, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

In Politics if thou would'st mix, And mean thy fortunes be; Bearthis in mind,-be deaf and blind, Let great folk hear and see.

Open The Door To Me, Oh

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:13+00:00Categories: 1793, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, oh. Cauldis the blast upon my pale cheek, Butcaulder thy love for me, oh: The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought

Phillis The Fair

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:19+00:00Categories: 1793, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

While larks, with little wing, Fann'd the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun's golden eye Peep'd o'er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird's careless song, Glad I did share; While yonwild-flowers among, Chance led me there! Sweet to the

Phillis The Queen O’ The Fair

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:19+00:00Categories: 1793, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Adown winding Nith I did wander, To markthe sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. Chorus.-Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties, They never wi' her can compare, Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. The daisy

Poortith Cauld And Restless Love

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:20+00:00Categories: 1793, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

O poortith cauld, and restless love, Ye wrack my peace between ye; Yet poortitha' I could forgive, An'twere nafor my Jeanie. Chorus-O why should Fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bands untwining? Orwhy sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining? The warld's wealth, when I think on, It's pride and a'the laveo't;

Robert Bruce’s March To Bannockburn

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:13+00:00Categories: 1793, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Scots, wha haewi' Wallace bled, Scots, whamBruce has aftenled, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to Victorie! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o'battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power- Chains and Slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Whasaebase as be a Slave? Let

Lines Inscribed In A Lady’s Pocket Almanac

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:07+00:00Categories: 1793, Inscription, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live, To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, TillSlave and Despot be butthings that were.

Sonnet Written On The Author’s Birthday

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:25+00:00Categories: 1793, Robert Burns Poems, Sonnet, Type, Year|

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow. So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if

Lines On The Commemoration Of Rodney’s Victory

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:11+00:00Categories: 1793, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Instead of a Song, boy's, I'll give you a Toast; Here's to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!- That we lost, did I say?-nay, byHeav'n, that we found; For their fame it will last while the world goes round. The next in succession I'll give you's the King! Whoe'er would betray

Thanksgiving For A National Victory

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:13+00:00Categories: 1793, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? To murder men and give God thanks! Desist, for shame!-proceed nofurther; God won't accept your thanks for Murther!