The Banks Of Doon. (First Version.)

I.

    Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
        How can ye bloom sae fair;
    How can ye chant, ye little birds,
        And I sae fu' o' care!

II.

    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
        That sings upon the bough;
    Thou minds me o' the happy days
        When my fause love was true.

III.

    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
        That sings beside thy mate;
    For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
        And wist na o' my fate.

IV.

    Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
        To see the woodbine twine,
    And ilka bird sang o' its love;
        And sae did I o' mine.

V.

    Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
        Frae aff its thorny tree:
    And my fause luver staw the rose,
        But left the thorn wi' me.

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

O Philly, Happy Be That Day.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Prologue, Spoken At The Theatre, Dumfries, 1 Jan. 1790.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Gowden Locks Of Anna.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

There Was A Lass.

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.

The Banks O' Doon. (Second Version.)

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight."


I.

    Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
        How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
    How can ye chant, ye little birds,
        And I sae weary, fu' o' care!
    Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
        That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
    Thou minds me o' departed joys,
        Departed, never to return!

II.

    Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
        To see the rose and woodbine twine;
    And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
        And fondly sae did I o' mine.
    Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
        Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
    And my fause luver stole my rose,
        But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

Robert Burns

Ca' The Yowes.

I.

    Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather growes,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes -
        My bonnie dearie!
    Hark the mavis' evening sang
    Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
    Then a faulding let us gang,
        My bonnie dearie.

II.

    We'll gae down by Cluden side,
    Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
    O'er the waves that sweetly glide
        To the moon sae clearly.

III.

    Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
    Where at moonshine midnight hours,
    O'er the dewy bending flowers,
        Fairies dance so cheery.

IV.

    Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
    Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
    Nocht of ill may come thee near,
        My bo...

Robert Burns

The Banks Of The Devon.

Tune. - "Bhannerach dhon na chri."


I.

    How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
        With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
    But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
        Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
    Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
        In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
    And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
        That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

II.

    O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
        With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn;
    And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
        The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
    Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,...

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

My Heart Was Ance.

Tune - "To the weavers gin ye go."


I.

    My heart was ance as blythe and free
        As simmer days were lang,
    But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
        Has gart me change my sang.
            To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
                To the weavers gin ye go;
            I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
                To the weavers gin ye go.

II.

    My mither sent me to the town,
        To warp a plaiden wab;
    But the weary, weary warpin o't
        Has gart me sigh and sab.

III.

    A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
        Sat working at his loom;
    He took my heart as wi' a net,
        In every knot and thrum.

IV.

    I sat beside my warpin-whee...

Robert Burns

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