Caledonia.

Tune - "Humours of Glen."


I.

    Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
        Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;
    Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green brockan,
        Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom:
    Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
        Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen;
    For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
        A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

II.

    Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
        And cauld CALEDONIA'S blast on the wave;
    Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
        What are they? - The haunt of the tyrant and slave!
    The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
        The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;
    He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
        Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

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

How Lang And Dreary Is The Night.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Kirk Of Lamington.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

There's Naethin Like The Honest Nappy!

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Gloomy Night.

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.

Caledonia.

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight."


I.

    There was once a day - but old Time then was young -
        That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
    From some of your northern deities sprung,
        (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?)
    From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,
        To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:
    Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign,
        And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.

II.

    A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,
        The pride of her kindred the heroine grew;
    Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore
        "Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!"
    With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,
        To...

Robert Burns

The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water To The Noble Duke Of Athole.

I.

    My Lord, I know your noble ear
        Woe ne'er assails in vain;
    Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
        Your humble slave complain,
    How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
        In flaming summer-pride,
    Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
        And drink my crystal tide.

II.

    The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
        That thro' my waters play,
    If, in their random, wanton spouts,
        They near the margin stray;
    If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
        I'm scorching up so shallow,
    They're left the whitening stanes amang,
        In gasping death to wallow.

III.

    Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
        As Poet Burns came by,
    That to a bard I shou...

Robert Burns

Lachin Y Gair. [1]

1.

Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove:
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia, belov'd are thy mountains,
Round their white summits though elements war:
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.


2.

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy, wander'd:
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; ^[2]
On chieftains, long perish'd, my memory ponder'd,
As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade;
I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheer'd, by traditional story,
...

George Gordon Byron

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

Amang The Trees.

Tune - "The King of France, he rade a race."



I.

    Amang the trees, where humming bees
        At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
    Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
        And to her pipe was singing, O;
    'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
        She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O,
    When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
        That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

II.

    Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
        They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
    The hungry bike did scrape and pike,
        'Till we were wae and weary, O;
    But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
        A prisoner aughteen year awa,
    He fir'd a fiddler in the north
        That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

Robert Burns

Address To Edinburgh.

I.

    Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
        All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
    Where once beneath a monarch's feet
        Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
    From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
        As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
    And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,
        I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

II.

    Here wealth still swells the golden tide,
        As busy Trade his labour plies;
    There Architecture's noble pride
        Bids elegance and splendour rise;
    Here Justice, from her native skies,
        High wields her balance and her rod;
    There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
        Seeks Science in her coy abode.

III.

    Thy sons, Edina! social, kind,
        With...

Robert Burns