Duncan Gray.

I.

    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 coost her head fu' high,
    Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
    Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

II.

    Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
    Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
    Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
    Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
    Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

III.

    Time and chance are but a tide,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
    Slighted love is sair to bide,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
    Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
    For a haughty hizzie die?
    She may gae to, France for me!
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

IV.

    How it comes let doctors tell,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
    Meg grew sick, as he grew heal,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
    Something in her bosom wrings,
    For relief a sigh she brings:
    And O, her een, they spak sic things!
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

V.

    Duncan was a lad o' grace.
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
    Maggie's was a piteous case,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
    Duncan could na be her death,
    Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
    Now they're crouse and canty baith,
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

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

Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green. To Mr. Cunningham.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Gallant Weaver.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Here's A Bottle And An Honest Friend!

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

O Philly, Happy Be That Day.

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.

Last May A Braw Wooer.

Tune - "The Lothian Lassie."


I.

    Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
        And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
    I said there was naething I hated like men,
        The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, believe me,
        The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me!

II.

    He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
        And vow'd for my love, he was dying;
    I said he might die when he liked for Jean,
        The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
        The Lord forgie me for lying!

III.

    A weel-stocked mailen - himsel' for the laird -
        And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
    I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,
        But thought I may hae waur offers, waur offers,<...

Robert Burns

There Was A Lass.

Tune - "Duncan Davison."


I.

    There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
        And she held o'er the moors to spin;
    There was a lad that follow'd her,
        They ca'd him Duncan Davison.
    The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,
        Her favour Duncan could na win;
    For wi' the roke she wad him knock.
        And ay she shook the temper-pin.

II.

    As o'er the moor they lightly foor,
        A burn was clear, a glen was green,
    Upon the banks they eas'd-their shanks,
        And ay she set the wheel between:
    But Duncan swore a haly aith,
        That Meg should be a bride the morn,
    Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,
        And flang them a' out o'er the burn.

III.

Robert Burns

Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray.

Tune - "Duncan Gray."


I.

    Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    When a' the lave gae to their play,
    Then I maun sit the lee lang day,
    And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
        And a' for the girdin o't!

II.

    Bonnie was the Lammas moon,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    Glowrin' a' the hills aboon,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    The girdin brak, the beast cam down,
    I tint my curch, and baith my shoon;
    Ah! Duncan, ye're an unco loon,
        Wae on the bad girdin o't!

III.

    But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    I'se bless you wi' ...

Robert Burns

To Mrs. Scott, Of Wauchope.

    I mind it weel in early date,
    When I was beardless, young and blate,
        An' first could thresh the barn;
    Or hand a yokin at the pleugh;
    An' tho' forfoughten sair enough,
        Yet unco proud to learn:
    When first amang the yellow corn
        A man I reckon'd was,
    An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn
        Could rank my rig and lass,
            Still shearing, and clearing,
                The tither stooked raw,
            Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
                Wearing the day awa.

    E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r,
    A wish that to my latest hour
        Shall strongly heave my breast,
    That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
    Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
        Or sing a sang at least...

Robert Burns

Epistle To Major Logan.

    Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie!
    Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly
    To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
        We never heed,
    But tak' it like the unback'd filly,
        Proud o' her speed.

    When idly goavan whyles we saunter
    Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter
    Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter,
        Some black bog-hole,
    Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter
        We're forced to thole.

    Hale be your heart! Hale be your fiddle!
    Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle,
    To cheer you through the weary widdle
        O' this wild warl',
    Until you on a crummock driddle
        A gray-hair'd carl.

    Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon,
    Heaven send your hear...

Robert Burns

Halloween.[1]

    "Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
    The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
    To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
    One native charm, than all the gloss of art."

Goldsmith.


    Upon that night, when fairies light
        On Cassilis Downans^[2] dance,
    Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
        On sprightly coursers prance;
    Or for Colean the rout is ta'en,
        Beneath the moon's pale beams;
    There, up the Cove,^[3] to stray an' rove
        Amang the rocks an' streams
        To sport that night.

    Amang the bonnie winding banks
        Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear,
    Where Bruce^[4] ance rul'd the martial ranks,
        An' shook his Carrick spear,

Robert Burns