Peg-A-Ramsey.

Tune - "Cauld is the e'enin blast."



I.

    Cauld is the e'enin' blast
        O' Boreas o'er the pool,
    And dawin' it is dreary
        When birks are bare at Yule.

II.

    O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast
        When bitter bites the frost,
    And in the mirk and dreary drift
        The hills and glens are lost.

III.

    Ne'er sae murky blew the night
        That drifted o'er the hill,
    But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey
        Gat grist to her mill.

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

On John Bushby.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

O Philly, Happy Be That Day.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Carles Of Dysart.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

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

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.

Bonnie Peg.

I.

    As I came in by our gate end,
        As day was waxin' weary,
    O wha came tripping down the street,
        But Bonnie Peg my dearie!

II.

    Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,
        Wi' nae proportion wanting;
    The Queen of Love did never move
        Wi' motion mair enchanting.

III.

    Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
        A-down yon winding river;
    And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,
        Can I forget it ever?

Robert Burns

Blythe Hae I Been.

Tune - "Liggeram Cosh."



I.

    Blythe hae I been on yon hill
        As the lambs before me;
    Careless ilka thought and free
        As the breeze flew o'er me.
    Now nae langer sport and play,
        Mirth or sang can please me;
    Lesley is sae fair and coy,
        Care and anguish seize me.

II.

    Heavy, heavy is the task,
        Hopeless love declaring:
    Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r,
        Sighing, dumb, despairing!
    If she winna ease the thraws
        In my bosom swelling,
    Underneath the grass-green sod
        Soon maun be my dwelling.

Robert Burns

The Cynic.

Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,
A blast wi' a smirr o' snaw,
An' it took the doctor's guid lum hat
Richt owre the kirk-yaird wa'.
When he sichtit it he dichtit it,
An' he glowred wi' an angry e'e-
For says auld Jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt:
"Ye've a gey gude crap," says he.

Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,
A blast baith snell an' keen,
An' the washin' o' the clarty wife
Sailed aff the washin' green,
An' it landit on the midden-heid,
Whaur nae washin' ought to be-
An' says auld jock Smairt, wha was passin' wi' his cairt:
"Weel, hame's aye hame," says he.

Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,
An' it gart the deid leaves loup,
An' it set the shoothers heicher yet
O' the gaithrin' at the roup;
An' stou...

David Rorie

Braving Angry Winter's Storms.

Tune - "Neil Gow's Lamentations for Abercairny."


I.

    Where, braving angry winter's storms,
        The lofty Ochels rise,
    Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
        First blest my wondering eyes;
    As one who by some savage stream,
        A lonely gem surveys,
    Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam,
        With art's most polish'd blaze.

II.

    Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
        And blest the day and hour,
    Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
        When first I felt their power!
    The tyrant Death, with grim control,
        May seize my fleeting breath;
    But tearing Peggy from my soul
        Must be a stronger death.

Robert Burns

Meg O' The Mill.

Air - "Hey! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?"



I.

    O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller,
    And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

II.

    The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
    A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady:
    The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
    She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

III.

    The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
    The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
    A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
    A whip by her side and a bonnie side-saddle.

IV.

    O wae on the siller, it is sae...

Robert Burns

Amang The Trees.

Tune - "The King of France, he rade a race."



I.

    Amang the trees, where humming bees
        At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
    Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
        And to her pipe was singing, O;
    'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
        She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O,
    When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
        That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

II.

    Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
        They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
    The hungry bike did scrape and pike,
        'Till we were wae and weary, O;
    But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
        A prisoner aughteen year awa,
    He fir'd a fiddler in the north
        That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

Robert Burns