On A Person Nicknamed The Marquis.

    Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd;
    If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

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

Nannie.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Mary Campbell.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Holy Willie's Prayer.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Naebody.

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.

On R.A., Esq.

    Know thou, O stranger to the fame
    Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!
    (For none that knew him need be told)
    A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.

Robert Burns

Verses To John Rankine.

    Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,
    Was driving to the tither warl'
    A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
    And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
    Black gowns of each denomination,
    And thieves of every rank and station,
    From him that wears the star and garter,
    To him that wintles in a halter:
    Asham'd himsel' to see the wretches,
    He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches,
    "By G--d, I'll not be seen behint them,
    Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
    Without, at least, ae honest man,
    To grace this d--d infernal clan."
    By Adamhill a glance he threw,
    "L--d G--d!" quoth he, "I have it now,
    There's just the man I want, i' faith!"
    And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.

Robert Burns

On A Henpecked Country Squire.

    As father Adam first was fool'd,
        A case that's still too common,
    Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
        The devil rul'd the woman.

Robert Burns

On Robert Riddel.

    To Riddel, much-lamented man,
        This ivied cot was dear;
    Reader, dost value matchless worth?
        This ivied cot revere.

Robert Burns

A Bard's Epitaph.

    Is there a whim-inspired fool,
    Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
    Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
        Let him draw near;
    And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
        And drap a tear.

    Is there a bard of rustic song,
    Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
    That weekly this area throng,
        O, pass not by!
    But with a frater-feeling strong,
        Here heave a sigh.

    Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
    Can others teach the course to steer,
    Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,
        Wild as the wave;
    Here pause, and, through the starting tear,
        Survey this grave.

    The poor inhabitant below
    Was quick to learn and wise to know,
    And keen...

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