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For The Sake O’ Somebody

2018-11-12T18:28:27+00:00Categories: 1794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

My heart is sair-I dare natell, My heart is sairfor Somebody; I could wake a winter night For the sake o' Somebody. O-hon! for Somebody! O-hey! for Somebody! I could range the world around, For the sake o' Somebody. Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, O, sweetly smile on Somebody! Fraeilka danger keep him

Inconstancy In Love

2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:00Categories: 1794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Let not Woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not Woman e'ercomplain Fickle Man is apt to rove: Look abroad thro' Nature's range, Nature's mighty Law is change, Ladies, would it not seem strange Man should then a monster prove! Mark the winds, and markthe skies, Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow, Sun and moon

Lassie Wi’ The Lint-White Locks

2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:00Categories: 1794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Chorus.-Lassie wi'the lint-whitelocks, Bonielassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi' me tentthe flocks, Wilt thou be my Dearie, O? Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, And a'is young and sweet like thee, O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O. Lassie wi' the, &c. The primrose bank, the wimpling

Monody

2018-11-12T18:28:27+00:00Categories: 1794, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd; How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listen'd! If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; How doubly severer, Maria,

My Nanie’s Awa

2018-11-12T18:28:37+00:00Categories: 1794, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes; While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, Butto me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they

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