To Dr. Maxwell, On Jessie Staig's Recovery.

    Maxwell, if merit here you crave
        That merit I deny,
    You save fair Jessie from the grave,
        An angel could not die.

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

Lovely Polly Stewart.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintray.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Lass Of Ballochmyle.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Mary Campbell.

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.

On Miss Jessy Lewars.

    Say, sages, what's the charm on earth
        Can turn Death's dart aside?
    It is not purity and worth,
        Else Jessy had not died.

R. B.

Robert Burns

On The Recovery Of Jessy Lewars.

    But rarely seen since Nature's birth,
        The natives of the sky;
    Yet still one seraph's left on earth,
        For Jessy did not die.

R. B.

Robert Burns

Jessy.

Tune - "Here's a health to them that's awa."



I.

    Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
        Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
    Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
        And soft as their parting tear - Jessy!

II.

    Altho' thou maun never be mine,
        Altho' even hope is denied;
    'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
        Then aught in the world beside - Jessy!

III.

    I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,
        As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms:
    But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
        For then I am lockt in thy arms - Jessy!

IV.

    I guess by the dear angel smile,
        I guess by the love rolling e'e;
    But why urge the tender...

Robert Burns

Jessie.

I.

    True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
        And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
    But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
        Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
    To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
        To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain;
    Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,
        And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

II.

    O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
        And sweet is the lily at evening close;
    But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie
        Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
    Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
        Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
    And still to her charms she al...

Robert Burns

To Dr. Blacklock, In Answer To A Letter.

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789.

    Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
    And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?
    I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie
        Wad bring ye to:
    Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye,
        And then ye'll do.

    The ill-thief blaw the heron south!
    And never drink be near his drouth!
    He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth,
        He'd tak my letter:
    I lippen'd to the chief in trouth,
        And bade nae better.

    But aiblins honest Master Heron,
    Had at the time some dainty fair one,
    To ware his theologic care on,
        And holy study;
    And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on
        E'en tried the body.

    But what dy'e think, my trusty fier,
    ...

Robert Burns

To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries. With Johnson'S 'Musical Museum.'

    Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,
    And with them take the Poet's prayer;
    That fate may in her fairest page,
    With every kindliest, best presage
    Of future bliss, enrol thy name:
    With native worth and spotless fame,
    And wakeful caution still aware
    Of ill, but chief, man's felon snare;
    All blameless joys on earth we find,
    And all the treasures of the mind,
    These be thy guardian and reward;
    So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard.

June 26, 1796.

Robert Burns