Wha Is That At My Bower-Door.

Tune - "Lass an I come near thee."


I.

    Wha is that at my bower door?
        O, wha is it but Findlay?
    Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!
        Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay.
    What mak ye sae like a thief?
        O come and see, quo' Findlay;
    Before the morn ye'll work mischief;
        Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

II.

    Gif I rise and let you in?
        Let me in, quo' Findlay;
    Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;
        Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
    In my bower if you should stay?
        Let me stay, quo' Findlay;
    I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;
        Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

III.

    Here this night if ye remain;
        I'll remain, quo' Findlay;
    I dread ye'll learn the gate again;
        Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
    What may pass within this bower,
        Let it pass, quo' Findlay;
    Ye maun conceal till your last hour;
        Indeed will I, quo' Findlay!

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

Robin Shure In Hairst.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Kirk Of Lamington.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Luckless Fortune.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

A Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish.

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.

O Whistle, And I'll Come To You.

I.

    O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,
    O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
    Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
    O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
    But warily tent, when you come to court me,
    And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
    Syne up the back-stile and let naebody see,
    And come as ye were na comin' to me.
    And come as ye were na comin' to me.

II.

    At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
    Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie;
    But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
    Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
    Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

III.

    Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
    And whiles ye may lightly ...

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

Ca' The Yowes.

I.

    Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather growes,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes -
        My bonnie dearie!
    Hark the mavis' evening sang
    Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
    Then a faulding let us gang,
        My bonnie dearie.

II.

    We'll gae down by Cluden side,
    Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
    O'er the waves that sweetly glide
        To the moon sae clearly.

III.

    Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
    Where at moonshine midnight hours,
    O'er the dewy bending flowers,
        Fairies dance so cheery.

IV.

    Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
    Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
    Nocht of ill may come thee near,
        My bo...

Robert Burns

O Poortith Cauld.

Tune - "I had a horse."



I.

    O poortith cauld, and restless love,
        Ye wreck my peace between ye;
    Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
            An' twere na' for my Jeanie.
                O why should fate sic pleasure have,
                    Life's dearest bands untwining?
                Or why sae sweet a flower as love
                    Depend on fortune's shining?

II.

    This warld's wealth when I think on,
        It's pride, and a' the lave o't
    Fie, fie on silly coward man,
        That he should be the slave o't!

III.

    Her een sae bonnie blue betray
        How she repays my passion;
    But prudence is her o'erword ay,
        She talks of rank and fashion.

Robert Burns

My Collier Laddie.

Tune - "The Collier Laddie."


I.

    Where live ye, my bonnie lass?
        An' tell me what they ca' ye;
    My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.
    My name she says, is Mistress Jean,
        And I follow the Collier Laddie.

II.

    See you not yon hills and dales,
        The sun shines on sae brawlie!
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

III.

    Ye shall gang in gay attire,
        Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
    And ane to wait on every hand,
        Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
    And ane to wa...

Robert Burns

Bonnie Lassie, Will Ye Go.

Tune - "The birks of Aberfeldy."


Chorus.

    Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
    Will ye go, will ye go;
    Bonnie lassie, will ye go
        To the birks of Aberfeldy?

I.

    Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
    And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
    Come let us spend the lightsome days
        In the birks of Aberfeldy.

II.

    The little birdies blithely sing,
    While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
    Or lightly flit on wanton wing
        In the birks of Aberfeldy.

III.

    The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
    The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
    O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
        The birks of Aberfeldy.

IV.

    The hoary cliffs a...

Robert Burns