The Toast.

    Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast,
    Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!
    That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
    For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.
    The next in succession, I'll give you, the King!
    Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
    And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
    As built on the base of the great Revolution;
    And longer with politics not to be cramm'd,
    Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;
    And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
    May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.

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

Blooming Nelly.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Caledonia.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Auld Farmer's - New-Year Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare Maggie, On Giving Her The Accustomed Ripp Of Corn To Hansel In The New Year

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Sketch.

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 American War. - A Fragment.

I.

    When Guildford good our pilot stood,
        And did our hellim thraw, man,
    Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
        Within America, man:
    Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
        And in the sea did jaw, man;
    An' did nae less in full Congress,
        Than quite refuse our law, man.

II.

    Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,
        I wat he was na slaw, man;
    Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,
        And Carleton did ca', man;
    But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec,
        Montgomery-like did fa', man,
    Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
        Amang his en'mies a', man.

III.

    Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,
        Was kept at Boston ha', man;
    Till Willie Howe took o'...

Robert Burns

On The Death Of Sir James Hunter Blair.

    The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,
        Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave;
    Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air,
        And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

    Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,
        Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;^[1]
    Or mus'd where limpid streams once hallow'd well,^[2]
        Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane.^[3]

    Th' increasing blast roared round the beetling rocks,
        The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky,
    The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,
        And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.

    The paly moon rose in the livid east,
        And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately for...

Robert Burns

Prologue Spoken By Mr. Woods On His Benefit Night, Monday, 16 April, 1787.

    When by a generous Public's kind acclaim,
    That dearest meed is granted, honest fame;
    When here your favour is the actor's lot,
    Nor even the man in private life forgot;
    What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow,
    But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe?

    Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng,
    It needs no Siddons' powers in Southerne's song;
    But here an ancient nation fam'd afar,
    For genius, learning high, as great in war,
    Hail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear!
    Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear!
    Where every science, every nobler art,
    That can inform the mind, or mend the heart,
    Is known; as grateful nations oft have found
    Far as the rude barbarian marks th...

Robert Burns

The Toast.

    Fill me with the rosy-wine,
    Call a toast, a toast divine;
    Give the Poet's darling flame,
    Lovely Jessy be the name;
    Then thou mayest freely boast,
    Thou hast given a peerless toast.

Robert Burns

Epistle To Robert Graham, Esq. Of Fintray: On The Close Of The Disputed Election Between Sir James Johnstone And Captain Miller, For The Dumfries District Of Boroughs.

    Fintray, my stay in worldly strife,
    Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life,
        Are ye as idle's I am?
    Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,
    O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,
        And ye shall see me try him.

    I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears,
    Who left the all-important cares
        Of princes and their darlings;
    And, bent on winning borough towns,
    Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns,
        And kissing barefit carlins.

    Combustion thro' our boroughs rode,
    Whistling his roaring pack abroad
        Of mad unmuzzled lions;
    As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd,
    And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd
        To every Whig defiance.

    But cautious Queensberry left the war,
    Th' u...

Robert Burns

The Whistle.

    I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth,
    I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North,
    Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king,
    And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring.

    Old Loda,^[1] still rueing the arm of Fingal,
    The god of the bottle sends down from his hall,
    "This whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er,
    And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me more!"

    Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,
    What champions ventur'd, what champions fell;
    The son of great Loda was conqueror still,
    And blew on his whistle his requiem shrill.

    Till Robert, the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur,
    Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war,
    He drank his poor godship as...

Robert Burns