Here's To Thy Health, My Bonnie Lass.

Tune - "Laggan Burn."


I.

    Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass,
        Gude night, and joy be wi' thee;
    I'll come na mair to thy bower-door,
        To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
    O dinna think, my pretty pink,
        But I can live without thee:
    I vow and swear I dinna care
        How lang ye look about ye.

II.

    Thou'rt ay sae free informing me
        Thou hast na mind to marry;
    I'll be as free informing thee
        Nae time hae I to tarry.
    I ken thy friends try ilka means,
        Frae wedlock to delay thee;
    Depending on some higher chance -
        But fortune may betray thee.

III.

    I ken they scorn my low estate,
        But that does never grieve me;
    But I'm as free as any he,
        Sma' siller will relieve me.
    I count my health my greatest wealth,
        Sae long as I'll enjoy it:
    I'll fear na scant, I'll bode nae want,
        As lang's I get employment.

IV.

    But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
        And ay until ye try them:
    Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,
        They may prove waur than I am.
    But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright,
        My dear, I'll come and see thee;
    For the man that lo'es his mistress weel,
        Nae travel makes him weary.

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

Jessy Lewars.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To John Taylor.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Address To The Shade Of Thomson, On Crowning His Bust At Ednam With Bays.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Brigs Of Ayr, A Poem, Inscribed To J. Ballantyne, Esq., Ayr.

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.

To Dr. Blacklock, In Answer To A Letter.

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789.

    Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
    And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?
    I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie
        Wad bring ye to:
    Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye,
        And then ye'll do.

    The ill-thief blaw the heron south!
    And never drink be near his drouth!
    He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth,
        He'd tak my letter:
    I lippen'd to the chief in trouth,
        And bade nae better.

    But aiblins honest Master Heron,
    Had at the time some dainty fair one,
    To ware his theologic care on,
        And holy study;
    And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on
        E'en tried the body.

    But what dy'e think, my trusty fier,
    ...

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

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

Here's A Health.

Tune - "Here's a health to them that's awa."


I.

    Here's a health to them that's awa,
    Here's a health to them that's awa;
    And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
    May never guid luck be their fa'!
    It's guid to be merry and wise,
    It's guid to be honest and true,
    It's good to support Caldonia's cause,
    And bide by the buff and the blue.

II.

    Here's a health to them that's awa,
    Here's a health to them that's awa,
    Here's a health to Charlie the chief of the clan,
    Altho' that his band be sma'.
    May liberty meet wi' success!
    May prudence protect her frae evil!
    May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,
    And wander their way to the devil!

III.

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