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

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

When Januar' Wind.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Young Jamie, Pride Of A' The Plain.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lines Sent To Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., Of Whitefoord. With The Foregoing Poem.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On Elphinston's Translations. Of Martial's Epigrams.

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 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

The Asthmatic Man To The Satan That Binds Him

Satan, avaunt!
    Nay, take thine hour,
Thou canst not daunt,
    Thou hast no power;
Be welcome to thy nest,
Though it be in my breast.

Burrow amain;
    Dig like a mole;
Fill every vein
    With half-burnt coal;
Puff the keen dust about,
And all to choke me out.

Fill music's ways
    With creaking cries,
That no loud praise
    May climb the skies;
And on my labouring chest
Lay mountains of unrest.

My slumber steep
    In dreams of haste,
That only sleep,
    No rest, I taste--
With stiflings, rimes of rote,
And fingers on my throat.

Satan, thy might
    I do defy;
Live core of night
    I patient lie:
A wind comes up the gray
Will blow thee clean away.

Chris...

George MacDonald

On Captain Grose's Peregrinations Through Scotland, Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom.

    Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots,
    Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;
    If there's a hole in a' your coats,
        I rede you tent it:
    A chiel's amang you taking notes,
        And, faith, he'll prent it!

    If in your bounds ye chance to light
    Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
    O' stature short, but genius bright,
        That's he, mark weel,
    And wow! he has an unco slight
        O' cauk and keel.

    By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,
    Or kirk deserted by its riggin,
    It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in
        Some eldritch part,
    Wi' deils, they say, L--d save's! colleaguin'
        At some black art.

    Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
    Ye gipsey-gang that deal in...

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

Written In A Wrapper, Enclosing A Letter To Captain Grose.

    Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose?
        Igo and ago,
    If he's amang his friends or foes?
        Iram, coram, dago.

    Is he south or is he north?
        Igo and ago,
    Or drowned in the river Forth?
        Iram, coram, dago.

    Is he slain by Highlan' bodies?
        Igo and ago,
    And eaten like a wether-haggis?
        Iram, coram, dago.

    Is he to Abram's bosom gane?
        Igo and ago,
    Or haudin' Sarah by the wame?
        Iram, coram, dago.

    Where'er he be, the L--d be near him!
        Igo and ago,
    As for the deil, he daur na steer him!
        Iram, coram, dago.

    But please transmit the enclosed letter,
        Igo and ago,
    Which will oblige your humble debto...

Robert Burns

Address Of Beelzebub To The President Of The Highland Society.

    Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours,
    Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors;
    Lord grant mae duddie desperate beggar,
    Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger,
    May twin auld Scotland o' a life
    She likes, as lambkins like a knife.
    Faith, you and A----s were right
    To keep the Highland hounds in sight;
    I doubt na! they wad bid nae better
    Than let them ance out owre the water;
    Then up among the lakes and seas
    They'll mak' what rules and laws they please;
    Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin';
    May set their Highland bluid a ranklin';
    Some Washington again may head them,
    Or some Montgomery fearless lead them,
    Till God knows what may be effected
    When by such heads and hearts directed,
    P...

Robert Burns