The Two Bobbies.

Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning,
They're the boys I'd like to see.
Though I'm not the boy for Bobbie,
Bobbie is the boy for me!

Bobbie Browning was the good boy;
Turned the language inside out,
Wrote his plays and had his days,
Died--and held his peace, no doubt.

Poor North Bobbie was the bad boy,--
Bad, bad, bad, bad Bobbie Burns!
Loved and made the world his lover,
Kissed and barleycomed by turns.

London's dweller, child of wisdom,
Kept his counsel, took his toll;
Ayrshire's vagrant paid the piper,
Lost the game--God save his soul!

Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning,
What's the difference, you see?
Bob the lover, Bob the lawyer;
Bobbie is the boy for me!

Bliss Carman

Bliss Carman was a Canadian poet, born in Fredericton, New Brunswick. He is best known for his nature poems and lyrical verse. Carman was a leading figure in the Confederation period of Canadian literature and is often remembered for his collections such as 'Low Tide on Grand Pré' and 'Songs of the Sea Children'. His work reflects a deep romanticism and connection to the natural world. Throughout his career, he collaborated with several other poets, including Charles G.D. Roberts and Archibald Lampman.

Bliss Carman

At The Granite Gate

Bliss Carman, Simple Poetry

The Night Express

Bliss Carman, Simple Poetry

Exit Anima

Bliss Carman, Simple Poetry

The Mocking-Bird.

Bliss Carman, Simple Poetry

English

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Bobbies Statue

Grown tired of mourning for my sins,
And brooding over merits,
The other night with aching heart
I went amongst the spirits;
And I met one that I knew well:
O Scottys Ghost! is that you?
And did you see the fearsome crowd
At Bobbie Burnss statue?

They hurried up in hansom cabs,
Tall-hatted and frock-coated;
They trained it in from all the towns,
The weird and hairy-throated;
They spoke in some outlandish tongue,
They cut some comic capers,
And ilka man was wild to get
His name in all the papers.

They showed no sign of intellect,
Those frauds who rushed before us;
They knew one verse of Auld Lang Syne,
The first one and the chorus.
They clacked the clack o Scotlans Bard,
They glibly talked of Rabby;
But what...

Henry Lawson

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

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

Epistle To Major Logan.

    Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie!
    Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly
    To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
        We never heed,
    But tak' it like the unback'd filly,
        Proud o' her speed.

    When idly goavan whyles we saunter
    Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter
    Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter,
        Some black bog-hole,
    Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter
        We're forced to thole.

    Hale be your heart! Hale be your fiddle!
    Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle,
    To cheer you through the weary widdle
        O' this wild warl',
    Until you on a crummock driddle
        A gray-hair'd carl.

    Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon,
    Heaven send your hear...

Robert Burns

The Inventory; - In Answer To A Mandate By The Surveyor Of The Taxes.

    Sir, as your mandate did request,
    I send you here a faithfu' list,
    O' gudes, an' gear, an' a' my graith,
    To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith.

        Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
    I have four brutes o' gallant mettle,
    As ever drew afore a pettle.
    My lan' afore's^[1] a gude auld has been,
    An' wight, an' wilfu' a' his days been.
    My lan ahin's^[2] a weel gaun fillie,
    That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,^[3]
    An' your auld burro' mony a time,
    In days when riding was nae crime,
    But ance, whan in my wooing pride,
    I like a blockhead boost to ride,
    The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,
    (L--d pardon a' my sins an' that too!)
    I play'd my fillie sic a s...

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