Handsome Nell.

Tune. - "I am a man unmarried."


I.

    O once I lov'd a bonnie lass,
        Ay, and I love her still;
    And whilst that honour warms my breast,
        I'll love my handsome Nell.

II.

    As bonnie lasses I hae seen,
        And mony full as braw;
    But for a modest gracefu' mien
        The like I never saw.

III.

    A bonnie lass, I will confess,
        Is pleasant to the e'e,
    But without some better qualities
        She's no a lass for me.

IV.

    But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet,
        And what is best of a',
    Her reputation is complete,
        And fair without a flaw.

V.

    She dresses ay sae clean and neat,
        Both decent and genteel:
    And then there's something in her gait
        Gars ony dress look weel.

VI.

    A gaudy dress and gentle air
        May slightly touch the heart;
    But it's innocence and modesty
        That polishes the dart.

VII.

    'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
        'Tis this enchants my soul;
    For absolutely in my breast
        She reigns without control

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

Man Was Made To Mourn. - A Dirge.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lady Mary Ann.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Mary!

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

John Barleycorn: A Ballad.

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.

Blooming Nelly.

Tune - "*On a bank of flowers.*"

I.

    On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
        For summer lightly drest,
    The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
        With love and sleep opprest;
    When Willie wand'ring thro' the wood,
        Who for her favour oft had sued,
    He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
        And trembled where he stood.

II.

    Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,
        Were seal'd in soft repose;
    Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,
        It richer dy'd the rose.
    The springing lilies sweetly prest,
        Wild. wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;
    He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
        His bosom ill at rest.

III.

    Her robes light waving in the breeze
        Her tender limbs embrace;
    Her lovely form, her native ease,
        All harmony and grace:
    Tumultuou...

Robert Burns

Nannie.

Tune - "My Nannie, O."


I.

    Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows,
        'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
    The wintry sun the day has closed,
        And I'll awa to Nannie, O.

II.

    The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill;
        The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
    But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
        An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.

III.

    My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young;
        Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
    May ill befa' the flattering tongue
        That wad beguile my Nannie, O.

IV.

    Her face is fair, her heart is true,
        As spotless as she's bonnie, O:
    The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
        Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

Robert Burns

On Cessnock Banks.

Tune - "If he be a butcher neat and trim."


I.

    On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
        Could I describe her shape and mien;
    Our lasses a' she far excels,
        An she has twa sparkling roguish een.

II.

    She's sweeter than the morning dawn
        When rising Phoebus first is seen,
    And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een

III.

    She's stately like yon youthful ash,
        That grows the cowslip braes between,
    And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

IV.

    She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
        With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
    When purest in the dew...

Robert Burns

The Winsome Wee Thing.

I.

    She is a winsome wee thing,
    She is a handsome wee thing,
    She is a bonnie wee thing,
        This sweet wee wife o' mine.

II.

    I never saw a fairer,
    I never lo'ed a dearer;
    And niest my heart I'll wear her,
        For fear my jewel tine.

III.

    She is a winsome wee thing,
    She is a handsome wee thing,
    She is a bonnie wee thing,
        This sweet wee wife o' mine.

IV.

    The warld's wrack we share o't,
    The warstle and the care o't;
    Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,
        And think my lot divine.

Robert Burns

This Is No My Ain Lassie.

Tune - "This is no my ain house."



I.

            O this is no my ain lassie,
                Fair tho' the lassie be;
            O weel ken I my ain lassie,
                Kind love is in her e'e.
    I see a form, I see a face,
    Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:
    It wants, to me, the witching grace,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

II.

    She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
    And lang has had my heart in thrall;
    And ay it charms my very saul,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

III.

    A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
    To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
    But gleg as light are lovers' een,
        When kind love is in the e'e.

IV.

...

Robert Burns

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