Bonnie Lassie, Will Ye Go.

Tune - "The birks of Aberfeldy."


Chorus.

    Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
    Will ye go, will ye go;
    Bonnie lassie, will ye go
        To the birks of Aberfeldy?

I.

    Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
    And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
    Come let us spend the lightsome days
        In the birks of Aberfeldy.

II.

    The little birdies blithely sing,
    While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
    Or lightly flit on wanton wing
        In the birks of Aberfeldy.

III.

    The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
    The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
    O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
        The birks of Aberfeldy.

IV.

    The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
    White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
    And rising, weets wi' misty showers
        The birks of Aberfeldy.

V.

    Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
    They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
    Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
        In the birks of Aberfeldy.
                Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
                Will ye go, will ye go;
                Bonnie lassie, will ye go
                    To the birks of Aberfeldy?

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

The Highland Welcome.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Dumfries Volunteers.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

O May, Thy Morn.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Caledonia.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

Lassie Wi' The Lint-White Locks.

Tune - "Rothemurche's Rant."


I.

        Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
            Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
        Wilt thou wi' me tent the 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 joy wi' me,
        And say thoul't be my dearie, O?

II.

    And when the welcome simmer shower
    Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
    We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
        At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

III.

    When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
    The weary shearer's hameward way;
    Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
        And talk o' love my dearie, O.

IV.

Robert Burns

Ca' The Yowes.

I.

    Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather growes,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes -
        My bonnie dearie!
    Hark the mavis' evening sang
    Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
    Then a faulding let us gang,
        My bonnie dearie.

II.

    We'll gae down by Cluden side,
    Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
    O'er the waves that sweetly glide
        To the moon sae clearly.

III.

    Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
    Where at moonshine midnight hours,
    O'er the dewy bending flowers,
        Fairies dance so cheery.

IV.

    Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
    Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
    Nocht of ill may come thee near,
        My bo...

Robert Burns

The Highland Lassie.

Tune - "The deuks dang o'er my daddy!"


I.

    Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
    Shall ever be my muse's care:
    Their titles a' are empty show;
    Gie me my Highland lassie, O.
            Within the glen sae bushy, O,
            Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
            I set me down wi' right good-will,
            To sing my Highland lassie, O.

II.

    Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
    Yon palace and yon gardens fine,
    The world then the love should know
    I bear my Highland lassie, O.

III.

    But fickle fortune frowns on me,
    And I maun cross the raging sea;
    But while my crimson currents flow,
    I'll love my Highland lassie, O.

IV.

    A...

Robert Burns

Ca' The Ewes.

Tune - "Ca' the ewes to the knowes."


Chorus

    Ca' the ewes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather grows,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
        My bonnie dearie!

I.

    As I gaed down the water-side,
    There I met my shepherd lad,
    He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
        An' he ca'd me his dearie.

II.

    Will ye gang down the water-side,
    And see the waves sae sweetly glide,
    Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
        The moon it shines fu' clearly.

III.

    I was bred up at nae sic school,
    My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
    And a' the day to sit in dool,
        And naebody to see me.

IV.

    Ye sall get gowns and ribbons...

Robert Burns

My Heart Was Ance.

Tune - "To the weavers gin ye go."


I.

    My heart was ance as blythe and free
        As simmer days were lang,
    But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
        Has gart me change my sang.
            To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
                To the weavers gin ye go;
            I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
                To the weavers gin ye go.

II.

    My mither sent me to the town,
        To warp a plaiden wab;
    But the weary, weary warpin o't
        Has gart me sigh and sab.

III.

    A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
        Sat working at his loom;
    He took my heart as wi' a net,
        In every knot and thrum.

IV.

    I sat beside my warpin-whee...

Robert Burns