To John Kennedy.

    Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
    And 'mang her favourites admit you!
    If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
    May nane believe him!
    And ony deil that thinks to get you,
    Good Lord deceive him!

R. B.

Kilmarnock, August, 1786

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

The Exciseman.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Whare Hae Ye Been.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

She Says She Loves Me Best Of A'.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lady Onlie.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Pidgin

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To John Kennedy.

    Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse
    E'er bring you in by Mauchline Cross,
    L--d, man, there's lasses there wad force
        A hermit's fancy.
    And down the gate in faith they're worse
        And mair unchancy.

    But as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's,
    And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews,
    Till some bit callan bring me news
        That ye are there,
    And if we dinna hae a bouze
        I'se ne'er drink mair.

    It's no I like to sit an' swallow,
    Then like a swine to puke and wallow,
    But gie me just a true good fellow,
        Wi' right ingine,
    And spunkie ance to make us mellow,
        And then we'll shine.

    Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk,
    Wha rate the wearer by the cloak,
    ...

Robert Burns

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

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

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.

 ...

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

On R.A., Esq.

    Know thou, O stranger to the fame
    Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!
    (For none that knew him need be told)
    A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.

Robert Burns