Impromptu, On Mrs. R----'s Birthday.

    Old Winter, with his frosty beard,
    Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd,
    What have I done of all the year,
    To bear this hated doom severe?
    My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
    Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow:
    My dismal months no joys are crowning,
    But spleeny English, hanging, drowning.

    Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
    To counterbalance all this evil;
    Give me, and I've no more to say,
    Give me Maria's natal day!
    That brilliant gift shall so enrich me,
    Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me;
    'Tis done! says Jove; so ends my story,
    And Winter once rejoiced in glory.

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

Theniel Menzies' Bonnie Mary.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On A Friend.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Lazy Mist.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

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Winter. A Dirge.

    The wintry west extends his blast,
        And hail and rain does blaw;
    Or the stormy north sends driving forth
        The blinding sleet and snaw;
    While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
        And roars frae bank to brae;
    And bird and beast in covert rest,
        And pass the heartless day.

    "The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"^[1]
        The joyless winter day
    Let others fear, to me more dear
        Than all the pride of May:
    The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
        My griefs it seems to join;
    The leafless trees my fancy please,
        Their fate resembles mine!

    Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
        These woes of mine fulfil,
    Here, firm, I rest, they must be ...

Robert Burns

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

I.

    Now spring has clad the grove in green,
        And strew'd the lea wi' flowers:
    The furrow'd waving corn is seen
        Rejoice in fostering showers;
    While ilka thing in nature join
        Their sorrows to forego,
    O why thus all alone are mine
        The weary steps of woe?

II.

    The trout within yon wimpling burn
        Glides swift, a silver dart,
    And safe beneath the shady thorn
        Defies the angler's art:
    My life was ance that careless stream,
        That wanton trout was I;
    But love, wi' unrelenting beam,
        Has scorch'd my fountains dry.

III.

    The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
        In yonder cliff that grows,
    Which, save the linnet's flight...

Robert Burns

Sketch. - New Year's Day. To Mrs. Dunlop.

    This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
    To run the twelvemonth's length again:
    I see the old, bald-pated follow,
    With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
    Adjust the unimpair'd machine,
    To wheel the equal, dull routine.

    The absent lover, minor heir,
    In vain assail him with their prayer;
    Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
    Nor makes the hour one moment less.
    Will you (the Major's with the hounds,
    The happy tenants share his rounds;
    Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day,
    And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
    From housewife cares a minute borrow,
    That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow,
    And join with me a moralizing,
    This day's propitious to be wise in.

    First, what did...

Robert Burns

Prologue, Spoken At The Theatre, Dumfries, 1 Jan. 1790.

    No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
    That queens it o'er our taste, the more's the pity:
    Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will you roam?
    Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
    But not for panegyric I appear,
    I come to wish you all a good new year!
    Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
    Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
    The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say,
    "You're one year older this important day."
    If wiser too, he hinted some suggestion,
    But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
    And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
    He bade me on you press this one word, "think!"

        Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit,
    Who think to storm...

Robert Burns

Winter Song

Dear Boy, throw that Icicle down,
And sweep this deep Snow from the door:
Old Winter comes on with a frown;
A terrible frown for the poor.
In a Season so rude and forlorn
How can age, how can infancy bear
The silent neglect and the scorn
Of those who have plenty to spare?

Fresh broach'd is my Cask of old Ale,
Well-tim'd now the frost is set in;
Here's Job come to tell us a tale,
We'll make him at home to a pin.
While my Wife and I bask o'er the fire,
The roll of the Seasons will prove,
That Time may diminish desire,
But cannot extinguish true love.

O the pleasures of neighbourly chat,
If you can but keep scandal away,
To learn what the world has been at,
And what the great Orators say;
Though the Wind through the crevices sing,<...

Robert Bloomfield

Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring.

I.

    Now Nature hangs her mantle green
        On every blooming tree,
    And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
        Out o'er the grassy lea:
    Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
        And glads the azure skies;
    But nought can glad the weary wight
        That fast in durance lies.

II.

    Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
        Aloft on dewy wing;
    The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
        Makes woodland echoes ring;
    The mavis wild wi' mony a note,
        Sings drowsy day to rest:
    In love and freedom they rejoice,
        Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

III.

    Now blooms the lily by the bank,
        The primrose down the brae;
    The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

Robert Burns