On Cessnock Banks.

Tune - "If he be a butcher neat and trim."


I.

    On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
        Could I describe her shape and mien;
    Our lasses a' she far excels,
        An she has twa sparkling roguish een.

II.

    She's sweeter than the morning dawn
        When rising Phoebus first is seen,
    And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een

III.

    She's stately like yon youthful ash,
        That grows the cowslip braes between,
    And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

IV.

    She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
        With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
    When purest in the dewy morn;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

V.

    Her looks are like the vernal May,
        When evening Phoebus shines serene,
    While birds rejoice on every spray,
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VI.

    Her hair is like the curling mist
        That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,
    When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VII.

    Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
        When gleaming sunbeams intervene,
    And gild the distant mountain's brow;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VIII.

    Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
        The pride of all the flow'ry scene,
    Just opening on its thorny stem;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

IX.

    Her teeth are like the nightly snow
        When pale the morning rises keen,
    While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een

X.

    Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,
        That sunny walls from Boreas screen,
    They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
        An' she has twa, sparkling roguish een.

XI.

    Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
        With fleeces newly washen clean,
    That slowly mount the rising steep;
        An' she has twa glancin' roguish een.

XII.

    Her breath is like the fragrant breeze
        That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
    When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

XIII.

    Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush
        That sings on Cessnock banks unseen,
    While his mate sits nestling in the bush;
        An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

XIV.

    But it's not her air, her form, her face,
        Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen,
    'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,
        An' chiefly in her roguish een.

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 Dean Of Faculty. - A New Ballad.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Joyful Widower.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Clarinda.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Vision.

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.

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains.

Tune - "Yon wild mossy mountains."


I.

    Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
    That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
    Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
    And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.
        Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
        And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.

II.

    Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores,
    To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors;
    For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
    Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
        For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
        Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Robert Burns

The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water To The Noble Duke Of Athole.

I.

    My Lord, I know your noble ear
        Woe ne'er assails in vain;
    Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
        Your humble slave complain,
    How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
        In flaming summer-pride,
    Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
        And drink my crystal tide.

II.

    The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
        That thro' my waters play,
    If, in their random, wanton spouts,
        They near the margin stray;
    If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
        I'm scorching up so shallow,
    They're left the whitening stanes amang,
        In gasping death to wallow.

III.

    Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
        As Poet Burns came by,
    That to a bard I shou...

Robert Burns

Menie.

Tune. - "Johnny's grey breeks."


I.

    Again rejoicing nature sees
        Her robe assume its vernal hues,
    Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
        All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
            And maun I still on Menie doat,
                And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
            For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
                An' it winna let a body be.

II.

    In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
        In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
    In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
        The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

III.

    The merry plough-boy cheers his team,
        Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
    But life to me's a weary dream,
        A dream of ane t...

Robert Burns

Auld Rob Morris.

I.

    There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
    He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men;
    He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
    And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

II.

    She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
    She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
    As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
    And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

    But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
    And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
    A wooer like me mamma hope to come speed;
    The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

    The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
    The night comes to me, but my...

Robert Burns

Blithe Was She.

Tune - "Andro and his cutty gun."


Chorus.

    Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
        Blithe was she but and ben:
    Blithe by the banks of Ern,
        And blithe in Glenturit glen.

I.

    By Auchtertyre grows the aik,
        On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
    But Phemie was a bonnier lass
        Than braes of Yarrow ever saw.

II.

    Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
        Her smile was like a simmer morn;
    She tripped by the banks of Ern,
        As light's a bird upon a thorn.

III.

    Her bonnie face it was as meek
        As any lamb upon a lea;
    The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
        As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

IV.

    The ...

Robert Burns

Peggy.

I.

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
    Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moor-cock springs, on whirring wings,
    Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
    Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night
    To muse upon my charmer.

II.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
    The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
    The soaring hern the fountains;
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves
    The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
    The spreading thorn the linnet.

III.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
    The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
 ...

Robert Burns