The Farewell To The Brethren Of St. James's Lodge, Tarbolton.

Tune - "Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'."


I.

    Adieu! a heart-warm, fond adieu!
        Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
    Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,
        Companions of my social joy!
    Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,
        Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',
    With melting heart, and brimful eye,
        I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.

II.

    Oft have I met your social band,
        And spent the cheerful, festive night;
    Oft honour'd with supreme command,
        Presided o'er the sons of light:
    And by that hieroglyphic bright,
        Which none but craftsmen ever saw!
    Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write
        Those happy scenes when far awa'.

III.

    May freedom, harmony, and love
        Unite you in the grand design,
    Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above,
        The glorious architect divine!
    That you may keep th' unerring line,
        Still rising by the plummet's law,
    Till order bright completely shine,
        Shall be my pray'r when far awa'.

IV.

    And you farewell! whose merits claim,
        Justly, that highest badge to wear!
    Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,
        To masonry and Scotia dear!
    A last request permit me here,
        When yearly ye assemble a',
    One round, I ask it with a tear,
        To him, the Bard that's far awa'.

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

Jessy Lewars.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Written In Friars-Carse Hermitage, On Nithside. December, 1788.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Bruce To His Men At Bannockburn. (First Version.)

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Auld Lang Syne.

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 Farewell.

Tune - "It was a' for our rightfu' king."


I.

    It was a' for our rightfu' king,
        We left fair Scotland's strand;
    It was a' for our rightfu' king
        We e'er saw Irish land,
        My dear;
        We e'er saw Irish land.

II.

    Now a' is done that men can do,
        And a' is done in vain;
    My love and native land farewell,
        For I maun cross the main,
        My dear;
        For I maun cross the main.

III.

    He turn'd him right, and round about
        Upon the Irish shore;
    And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
        With adieu for evermore,
        My dear;
        With adieu for evermore.

IV.

    The sodger from the wars returns,...

Robert Burns

The Farewell.

    "The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
    Or what does he regard his single woes?
    But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
    To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair,
    The those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,
    To helpless children! then, O then! he feels
    The point of misery fest'ring in his heart,
    And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
    Such, such am I! undone."

Thomson.


I.

    Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains,
    Far dearer than the torrid plains
        Where rich ananas blow!
    Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!
    A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
        My Jean's heart-rending throe!
    Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft
        Of my parental care,
  ...

Robert Burns

Letter To James Tennant, Of Glenconner.

    Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner,
    How's a' the folk about Glenconner?
    How do you this blae eastlin wind,
    That's like to blaw a body blind?
    For me, my faculties are frozen,
    My dearest member nearly dozen'd,
    I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson,
    Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
    Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
    An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
    Philosophers have fought and wrangled,
    An' meikle Greek and Latin mangled,
    Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
    An' in the depth of science mir'd,
    To common sense they now appeal,
    What wives and wabsters see and feel.
    But, hark ye, friend! I charge you strictly
    Peruse them, an' return them quickly,
    For now I'm grown sae curse...

Robert Burns

Ae Fond Kiss.

Tune - "Rory Dall's Port."


I.

    Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
    Ae fareweel, and then for ever!
    Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
    Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
    Who shall say that fortune grieves him
    While the star of hope she leaves him?
    Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
    Dark despair around benights me.

II.

    I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
    Naething could resist my Nancy;
    But to see her, was to love her;
    Love but her, and love for ever.
    Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
    Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
    Never met, or never parted,
    We had ne'er been broken hearted.

III.

    Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!...

Robert Burns

Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn.

I.

    The wind blew hollow frae the hills,
        By fits the sun's departing beam
    Look'd on the fading yellow woods
        That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
    Beneath a craggy steep, a bard,
        Laden with years and meikle pain,
    In loud lament bewail'd his lord,
        Whom death had all untimely ta'en.

II.

    He lean'd him to an ancient aik,
        Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years;
    His locks were bleached white with time,
        His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;
    And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
        And as he tun'd his doleful sang,
    The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
        To echo bore the notes alang.

III.

    "Ye scattered birds that faintly sing,<...

Robert Burns

The Gloomy Night.

Tune - "Roslin Castle."


I.

    The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
    Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
    Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
    I see it driving o'er the plain;
    The hunter now has left the moor,
    The scatter'd coveys meet secure;
    While here I wander, prest with care,
    Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

II.

    The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn,
    By early Winter's ravage torn;
    Across her placid, azure sky,
    She sees the scowling tempest fly:
    Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
    I think upon the stormy wave,
    Where many a danger I must dare,
    Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

III.

    'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
    'Tis n...

Robert Burns