To John M'Murdo, Esq.

    O, could I give thee India's wealth,
        As I this trifle send!
    Because thy joy in both would be
        To share them with a friend.

    But golden sands did never grace
        The Heliconian stream;
    Then take what gold could never buy,
        An honest Bard's esteem.

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

Prologue, Spoken At The Theatre, Dumfries, 1 Jan. 1790.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Farewell.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Though Fickle Fortune Has Deceived Me,

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintray. On Receiving A Favour.

    I call no goddess to inspire my strains,
    A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns;
    Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,
    And all the tribute of my heart returns,
    For boons accorded, goodness ever new,
    The gift still dearer, as the giver, you.

    Thou orb of day! thou other paler light!
    And all ye many sparkling stars of night;
    If aught that giver from my mind efface;
    If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace;
    Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres,
    Only to number out a villain's years!

Robert Burns

To Mary Campbell.

I.

    Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
        And leave old Scotia's shore?
    Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
        Across th' Atlantic's roar?

II.

    O sweet grows the lime and the orange,
        And the apple on the pine;
    But a' the charms o' the Indies
        Can never equal thine.

III.

    I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
        I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
    And sae may the Heavens forget me
        When I forget my vow!

IV.

    O plight me your faith, my Mary,
        And plight me your lily white hand;
    O plight me your faith, my Mary,
        Before I leave Scotia's strand.

V.

    We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,
        In mut...

Robert Burns

To His Faithful Friend, M. John Crofts, Cup-Bearer To The King.

For all thy many courtesies to me,
Nothing I have, my Crofts, to send to thee
For the requital, save this only one
Half of my just remuneration.
For since I've travell'd all this realm throughout
To seek and find some few immortals out
To circumspangle this my spacious sphere,
As lamps for everlasting shining here;
And having fix'd thee in mine orb a star,
Amongst the rest, both bright and singular,
The present age will tell the world thou art,
If not to th' whole, yet satisfi'd in part.
As for the rest, being too great a sum
Here to be paid, I'll pay't i' th' world to come.

Robert Herrick

To Mr. M'Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan.

    Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card,
        I trow it made me proud;
    See wha tak's notice o' the bard
        I lap and cry'd fu' loud.

    Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,
        The senseless, gawky million:
    I'll cock my nose aboon them a'
        I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan!

    'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel',
        To grant your high protection:
    A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,
        Is ay a blest infection.

    Tho' by his^[1] banes who in a tub
        Match'd Macedonian Sandy!
    On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,
        I independent stand ay.

    And when those legs to gude, warm kail,
        Wi' welcome canna bear me;
    A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail,
        And ba...

Robert Burns

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation.

Tune. - "A parcel of rogues in a nation."


I.

    Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
        Fareweel our ancient glory,
    Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
        Sae fam'd in martial story.
    Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
        And Tweed rins to the ocean,
    To mark where England's province stands
        Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

II.

    What force or guile could not subdue,
        Thro' many warlike ages,
    Is wrought now by a coward few
        For hireling traitor's wages.
    The English steel we could disdain;
        Secure in valour's station;
    But English gold has been our bane
        Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

III.

    O would, or I had ...

Robert Burns

The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water To The Noble Duke Of Athole.

I.

    My Lord, I know your noble ear
        Woe ne'er assails in vain;
    Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
        Your humble slave complain,
    How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
        In flaming summer-pride,
    Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
        And drink my crystal tide.

II.

    The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
        That thro' my waters play,
    If, in their random, wanton spouts,
        They near the margin stray;
    If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
        I'm scorching up so shallow,
    They're left the whitening stanes amang,
        In gasping death to wallow.

III.

    Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
        As Poet Burns came by,
    That to a bard I shou...

Robert Burns