Lines On Stirling.

    Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd,
    And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd;
    But now unroof'd their palace stands,
    Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands;
    The injured Stuart line is gone,
    A race outlandish fills their throne;
    An idiot race, to honour lost;
    Who know them best despise them most.

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

A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Gallant Weaver.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Mauchline Lady.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

My Peggy's Face.

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.

Address To Edinburgh.

I.

    Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
        All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
    Where once beneath a monarch's feet
        Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
    From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
        As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
    And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,
        I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

II.

    Here wealth still swells the golden tide,
        As busy Trade his labour plies;
    There Architecture's noble pride
        Bids elegance and splendour rise;
    Here Justice, from her native skies,
        High wields her balance and her rod;
    There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
        Seeks Science in her coy abode.

III.

    Thy sons, Edina! social, kind,
        With...

Robert Burns

Poetical Address To Mr. W. Tytler, With The Present Of The Bard's Picture.

    Revered defender of beauteous Stuart,
        Of Stuart, a name once respected,
    A name, which to love, was once mark of a true heart,
        But now 'tis despis'd and neglected.

    Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,
        Let no one misdeem me disloyal;
    A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh,
        Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.

    My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne,
        My fathers have fallen to right it;
    Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
        That name should he scoffingly slight it.

    Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
        The Queen and the rest of the gentry,
    Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
        Their ti...

Robert Burns

Lines Intended To Be Written Under A Noble Earl's Picture.

    Whose is that noble dauntless brow?
        And whose that eye of fire?
    And whose that generous princely mien,
        E'en rooted foes admire?
    Stranger! to justly show that brow,
        And mark that eye of fire,
    Would take His hand, whose vernal tints
        His other works inspire.

    Bright as a cloudless summer sun,
        With stately port he moves;
    His guardian seraph eyes with awe
        The noble ward he loves,
    Among th' illustrious Scottish sons
        That chief thou may'st discern;
    Mark Scotia's fond returning eye,
        It dwells upon Glencairn.

Robert Burns

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation.

Tune. - "A parcel of rogues in a nation."


I.

    Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
        Fareweel our ancient glory,
    Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
        Sae fam'd in martial story.
    Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
        And Tweed rins to the ocean,
    To mark where England's province stands
        Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

II.

    What force or guile could not subdue,
        Thro' many warlike ages,
    Is wrought now by a coward few
        For hireling traitor's wages.
    The English steel we could disdain;
        Secure in valour's station;
    But English gold has been our bane
        Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

III.

    O would, or I had ...

Robert Burns

Scots Prologue, For Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries.

        What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on,
    How this new play an' that new sang is comin'?
    Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
    Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when imported?
    Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame,
    Will try to gie us songs and plays at hame?
    For comedy abroad he need nae toil,
    A fool and knave are plants of every soil;
    Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece
    To gather matter for a serious piece;
    There's themes enough in Caledonian story,
    Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory.

    Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell
    How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell?
    Where are the muses fled that could produce
    A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce;
    How...

Robert Burns

On The Death Of Robert Dundas, Esq., Of Arniston, Late Lord President Of The Court Of Session.

    Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks
    Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks;
    Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains,
    The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains;
    Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan;
    The hollow caves return a sullen moan.

    Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests and ye caves,
    Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves!
    Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye,
    Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly;
    Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar
    Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore.

    O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear!
    A loss these evil days can ne'er repair!
    Justice, the high vicegerent of her God,
    Her doubtful balance ey'd, and sway'd ...

Robert Burns