Up In The Morning Early

Tune - "Cold blows the wind."


Chorus.

    Up in the morning's no for me,
        Up in the morning early;
    When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
        I'm sure it's winter fairly.

I.

    Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
        The drift is driving sairly;
    Sae loud and shill I hear the blast,
        I'm sure it's winter fairly.

II.

    The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
        A' day they fare but sparely;
    And lang's the night frae e'en to morn,
        I'm sure it's winter fairly.
            Up in the morning's no for me,
                Up in the morning early;
            When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
                I'm sure it's winter fairly.

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

My Nannie's Awa.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Had I A Cave.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Clarinda.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Ca' The Yowes.

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.

Menie.

Tune. - "Johnny's grey breeks."


I.

    Again rejoicing nature sees
        Her robe assume its vernal hues,
    Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
        All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
            And maun I still on Menie doat,
                And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
            For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
                An' it winna let a body be.

II.

    In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
        In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
    In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
        The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

III.

    The merry plough-boy cheers his team,
        Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
    But life to me's a weary dream,
        A dream of ane t...

Robert Burns

The Young Highland Rover.

Tune - "Morag."


I.

    Loud blaw the frosty breezes,
        The snaws the mountains cover;
    Like winter on me seizes,
        Since my young Highland rover
        Far wanders nations over.
    Where'er he go, where'er he stray.
        May Heaven be his warden:
    Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
        And bonnie Castle-Gordon!

II.

    The trees now naked groaning,
        Shall Soon wi' leaves be hinging.
    The birdies dowie moaning,
        Shall a' be blithely singing,
        And every flower be springing.
    Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day
        When by his mighty Warden
    My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,
        And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

Robert Burns

The Braes O' Ballochmyle.

Tune - "The Braes o' Ballochmyle."


I.

    The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
        The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,
    Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
        But nature sicken'd on the e'e.
    Thro' faded groves Maria sang,
        Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while,
    And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,
        Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!

II.

    Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
        Again ye'll nourish fresh and fair;
    Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers,
        Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
    But here, alas! for me nae mair
        Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
    Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr,
        Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

Robert Burns

The Gloomy Night.

Tune - "Roslin Castle."


I.

    The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
    Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
    Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
    I see it driving o'er the plain;
    The hunter now has left the moor,
    The scatter'd coveys meet secure;
    While here I wander, prest with care,
    Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

II.

    The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn,
    By early Winter's ravage torn;
    Across her placid, azure sky,
    She sees the scowling tempest fly:
    Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
    I think upon the stormy wave,
    Where many a danger I must dare,
    Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

III.

    'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
    'Tis n...

Robert Burns

How Lang And Dreary Is The Night.

Tune - "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."


I.

    How lang and dreary is the night,
        When I am frae my dearie;
    I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
        Though I were ne'er sae weary.
            For oh! her lanely nights are lang;
                And oh! her dreams are eerie;
            And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
                That's absent frae her dearie.

II.

    When I think on the lightsome days
        I spent wi' thee my dearie;
    And now what seas between us roar -
        How can I be but eerie?

III.

    How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
        The joyless day how dreary!
    It was na sae ye glinted by,
        When I was wi' my dearie.
            For oh! her lanely ...

Robert Burns

Out Over The Forth.

Tune - "Charlie Gordon's welcome hame."


I.

    Out over the Forth I look to the north,
        But what is the north and its Highlands to me?
    The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
        The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.

II.

    But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
        That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
    For far in the west lives he I Io'e best,
        The lad that is dear to my babie and me.

Robert Burns