Fairest Maid On Devon Banks.

Tune - "Rothemurche."


I.

    Fairest maid on Devon banks,
        Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
    Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
        And smile as thou were wont to do?
    Full well thou know'st I love thee, dear!
    Could'st thou to malice lend an ear!
    O! did not love exclaim "Forbear,
        Nor use a faithful lover so."

II.

    Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
    Those wonted smiles, O let me share;
    And by thy beauteous self I swear,
        No love but thine my heart shall know.
            Fairest maid on Devon banks,
                Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
            Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
                And smile as thou were wont to do?

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 Banks Of Doon. (First Version.)

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lying At A Reverend Friend's House On Night, The Author Left The Following Verses In The Room Where He Slept.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Epistle To A Young Friend. - May, 1786.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation.

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.

Fair Eliza.

A Gaelic Air.



I.

    Turn again, thou fair Eliza,
        Ae kind blink before we part,
    Rue on thy despairing lover!
        Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
    Turn again, thou fair Eliza;
        If to love thy heart denies,
    For pity hide the cruel sentence
        Under friendship's kind disguise!

II.

    Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
        The offence is loving thee:
    Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
        Wha for time wad gladly die?
    While the life beats in my bosom,
        Thou shalt mix in ilka throe;
    Turn again, thou lovely maiden.
        Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

III.

    Not the bee upon the blossom,
        In the pride o' sunny no...

Robert Burns

The Banks Of The Devon.

Tune. - "Bhannerach dhon na chri."


I.

    How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
        With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
    But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
        Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
    Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
        In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
    And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
        That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

II.

    O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
        With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn;
    And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
        The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
    Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,...

Robert Burns

My Lass.

Fairest lass amang the monny,
Hair as black as raven, O.
Net another lass as bonny,
Lives i'th' dales ov Craven, O.
City lasses may be fairer,
May be donned i' silks an laces,
But ther's nooan whose charms are rarer,
Nooan can show sich bonny faces.
Yorksher minstrel tune thy lyre,
Show thou art no craven, O;
In thy strains 'at mooast inspire,
Sing the praise ov Craven, O.

Purest breezes toss their tresses,
Tint ther cheeks wi' rooases, O,
An old Sol wi' warm caresses,
Mak 'em bloom like pooasies, O.
Others may booast birth an riches,
May have studied grace ov motion,
But they lack what mooast bewitches, -
Hearts 'at love wi' pure devotion.
Perfect limbs an round full bosoms,
Sich as set men ravin, O,
Only can be faand i' bl...

John Hartley

Ae Fond Kiss.

Tune - "Rory Dall's Port."


I.

    Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
    Ae fareweel, and then for ever!
    Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
    Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
    Who shall say that fortune grieves him
    While the star of hope she leaves him?
    Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
    Dark despair around benights me.

II.

    I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
    Naething could resist my Nancy;
    But to see her, was to love her;
    Love but her, and love for ever.
    Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
    Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
    Never met, or never parted,
    We had ne'er been broken hearted.

III.

    Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!...

Robert Burns

The Banks Of Doon. (First Version.)

I.

    Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
        How can ye bloom sae fair;
    How can ye chant, ye little birds,
        And I sae fu' o' care!

II.

    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
        That sings upon the bough;
    Thou minds me o' the happy days
        When my fause love was true.

III.

    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
        That sings beside thy mate;
    For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
        And wist na o' my fate.

IV.

    Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
        To see the woodbine twine,
    And ilka bird sang o' its love;
        And sae did I o' mine.

V.

    Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
        Frae aff its thorny tree:
    An...

Robert Burns

Mary Morison.

Tune - "Bide ye yet."



I.

    O Mary, at thy window be,
        It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
    Those smiles and glances let me see
        That make the miser's treasure poor:
    How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
        A weary slave frae sun to sun;
    Could I the rich reward secure,
        The lovely Mary Morison!

II.

    Yestreen, when to the trembling string
        The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
    To thee my fancy took its wing,
        I sat, but neither heard or saw:
    Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
        And yon the toast of a' the town,
    I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
        "Ye are na Mary Morison."

III.

    O Mary, canst thou wreck hi...

Robert Burns