On A Suicide.

    Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell,
        Planted by Satan's dibble,
    Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel'
        To save the Lord the trouble.

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

Menie.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Contented Wi' Little.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Ae Fond Kiss.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To John Taylor.

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 Captain Francis Grose.

    The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,
    So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying;
    But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,
    And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,
    Astonish'd! confounded! cry'd Satan, "By ----,
    I'll want him, ere I take such a damnable load!"

Robert Burns

On A Celebrated Ruling Elder.

    Here souter Hood in death does sleep;
        To h--ll, if he's gane thither,
    Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
        He'll haud it weel thegither.

Robert Burns

Holy Willie's Prayer.

"And send the godly in a pet to pray."

Pope.


    O thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
    Wha, as it pleases best thysel',
    Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell,
        A' for thy glory,
    And no for ony gude or ill
        They've done afore thee!

    I bless and praise thy matchless might,
    Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
    That I am here afore thy sight,
        For gifts and grace,
    A burnin' and a shinin' light
        To a' this place.

    What was I, or my generation,
    That I should get sic exaltation,
    I wha deserve sic just damnation,
        For broken laws,
    Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
        Thro' Adam's cause.

    When frae my mither's womb I fell,...

Robert Burns

Ode Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald, Of Auchencruive.

    Dweller in yon dungeon dark,
    Hangman of creation, mark!
    Who in widow-weeds appears,
    Laden with unhonoured years,
    Noosing with care a bursting purse,
    Baited with many a deadly curse?

Strophe.

    View the wither'd beldam's face,
    Can thy keen inspection trace
    Aught of Humanity's sweet melting grace?
    Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows,
    Pity's flood there never rose.
    See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save,
    Hands that took, but never gave.
    Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,
    Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest
    She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest!

Antistrophe.

    Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes,
    (Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends;)
    S...

Robert Burns

On Wat.

    Sic a reptile was Wat,
        Sic a miscreant slave,
    That the very worms damn'd him
        When laid in his grave.
    "In his flesh there's a famine,"
        A starv'd reptile cries;
    "An' his heart is rank poison,"
        Another replies.

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