Robin Shure In Hairst.

I.

    Robin shure in hairst,
        I shure wi' him,
    Fient a heuk had I,
        Yet I stack by him.

II.

    I gaed up to Dunse,
        To warp a wab o' plaiden,
    At his daddie's yett,
        Wha met me but Robin.

III.

    Was na Robin bauld,
        Tho' I was a cotter,
    Play'd me sic a trick,
        And me the eller's dochter?
                Robin share in hairst, &c.

IV.

    Robin promis'd me
        A' my winter vittle;
    Fient haet he had but three
        Goose feathers and a whittle.
                Robin share in hairst, &c.

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

Scots Prologue, For Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

On A Schoolmaster.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lord Gregory.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Up In The Morning Early

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.

Robin.

Tune - "Daintie Davie."


I.

    There was a lad was born in Kyle,
    But whatna day o' whatna style
    I doubt it's hardly worth the while
        To be sae nice wi' Robin.
            Robin was a rovin' boy,
                Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
            Robin was a rovin' boy,
                Rantin' rovin' Robin!

II.

    Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
    Was five-and-twenty days begun,
    Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'
        Blew hansel in on Robin.

III.

    The gossip keekit in his loof,
    Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof.
    This waly boy will be nae coof,
        I think we'll ca' him Robin

IV.

    He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',<...

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

Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux.

    Now Robin lies in his last lair,
    He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair,
    Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare,
        Nae mair shall fear him;
    Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care,
        E'er mair come near him.

    To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him,
    Except the moment that they crush't him;
    For sune as chance or fate had hush't 'em,
        Tho' e'er sae short,
    Then wi' a rhyme or song he lash't 'em,
        And thought it sport.

    Tho' he was bred to kintra wark,
    And counted was baith wight and stark.
    Yet that was never Robin's mark
        To mak a man;
    But tell him he was learned and clark,
        Ye roos'd him than!

Robert Burns

To Mrs. Scott, Of Wauchope.

    I mind it weel in early date,
    When I was beardless, young and blate,
        An' first could thresh the barn;
    Or hand a yokin at the pleugh;
    An' tho' forfoughten sair enough,
        Yet unco proud to learn:
    When first amang the yellow corn
        A man I reckon'd was,
    An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn
        Could rank my rig and lass,
            Still shearing, and clearing,
                The tither stooked raw,
            Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
                Wearing the day awa.

    E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r,
    A wish that to my latest hour
        Shall strongly heave my breast,
    That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
    Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
        Or sing a sang at least...

Robert Burns

Last May A Braw Wooer.

Tune - "The Lothian Lassie."


I.

    Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
        And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
    I said there was naething I hated like men,
        The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, believe me,
        The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me!

II.

    He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
        And vow'd for my love, he was dying;
    I said he might die when he liked for Jean,
        The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
        The Lord forgie me for lying!

III.

    A weel-stocked mailen - himsel' for the laird -
        And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
    I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,
        But thought I may hae waur offers, waur offers,<...

Robert Burns

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