Luckless Fortune.

    O raging fortune's withering blast
        Has laid my leaf full low, O!
    O raging fortune's withering blast
        Has laid my leaf full low, O!
    My stem was fair, my bud was green,
        My blossom sweet did blow, O;
    The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
        And made my branches grow, O.
    But luckless fortune's northern storms
        Laid a' my blossoms low, O;
    But luckless fortune's northern storms
        Laid a' my blossoms low, O.

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 Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, The Author's Only Pet Yowe. An Unco Mournfu' Tale.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On William Smellie.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lines Written On A Window Of The Globe Tavern, Dumfries.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On Chloris Being Ill.

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.

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

To A Mountain Daisy, On Turning One Down With The Plough In April, 1786.

    Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
    Thou's met me in an evil hour;
    For I maun crush amang the stoure
        Thy slender stem:
    To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
        Thou bonnie gem.

    Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
    The bonnie lark, companion meet!
    Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
        Wi' spreckl'd breast,
    When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
        The purpling east.

    Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
    Upon thy early, humble birth;
    Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
        Amid the storm,
    Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
        Thy tender form.

    The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
    High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield
    But thou, beneath t...

Robert Burns

To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintray.

    Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg,
    About to beg a pass for leave to beg:
    Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest,
    (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;)
    Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail?
    (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,)
    And hear him curse the light he first survey'd,
    And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade?

    Thou, Nature, partial Nature! I arraign;
    Of thy caprice maternal I complain:
    The lion and the bull thy care have found,
    One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground:
    Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell,
    Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell;
    Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour,
    In all th' omnipotence of rule and...

Robert Burns

My Father Was A Farmer.

Tune - "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O."


I.

    My father was a farmer
        Upon the Carrick border, O,
    And carefully he bred me,
        In decency and order, O;
    He bade me act a manly part,
        Though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
    For without an honest manly heart,
        No man was worth regarding, O.

II.

    Then out into the world
        My course I did determine, O;
    Tho' to be rich was not my wish,
        yet to be great was charming, O:
    My talents they were not the worst,
        Nor yet my education, O;
    Resolv'd was I, at least to try,
        To mend my situation, O.

III.

    In many a way, and vain essay,
        I courted fortune's favour, O;

Robert Burns

Despondency. - An Ode.

I.

    Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
    A burden more than I can bear,
        I set me down and sigh:
    O life! thou art a galling load,
    Along a rough, a weary road,
        To wretches such as I!
    Dim-backward as I cast my view,
        What sick'ning scenes appear!
    What sorrows yet may pierce me thro'
        Too justly I may fear!
            Still caring, despairing,
                Must be my bitter doom;
            My woes here shall close ne'er
                But with the closing tomb!

II.

    Happy, ye sons of busy life,
    Who, equal to the bustling strife,
        No other view regard!
    Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd,
    Yet while the busy means are ply'd,
        They b...

Robert Burns

Though Fickle Fortune Has Deceived Me,

    Though fickle Fortune has deceived me,
        She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill;
    Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,
        Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.

    I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able,
        But if success I must never find,
    Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
        I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.

Robert Burns