On Miss Jean Scott.

    Oh! had each Scot of ancient times,
        Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
    The bravest heart on English ground
        Had yielded like a coward!

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

Eppie Adair.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Auld Rob Morris.

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.

My Jean!

Tune - "The Northern Lass."


    Though cruel fate should bid us part,
        Far as the pole and line,
    Her dear idea round my heart,
        Should tenderly entwine.
    Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,
        And oceans roar between;
    Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,
        I still would love my Jean

Robert Burns

Bonnie Jean.

I.

    There was a lass, and she was fair,
        At kirk and market to be seen,
    When a' the fairest maids were met,
        The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

II.

    And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
        And ay she sang so merrilie:
    The blithest bird upon the bush
        Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

III.

    But hawks will rob the tender joys
        That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
    And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
        And love will break the soundest rest.

IV.

    Young Robie was the brawest lad,
        The flower and pride of a' the glen;
    And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
        And wanton naigies nine or ten.

V.

    He gae...

Robert Burns

To Mrs. Scott, Of Wauchope.

    I mind it weel in early date,
    When I was beardless, young and blate,
        An' first could thresh the barn;
    Or hand a yokin at the pleugh;
    An' tho' forfoughten sair enough,
        Yet unco proud to learn:
    When first amang the yellow corn
        A man I reckon'd was,
    An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn
        Could rank my rig and lass,
            Still shearing, and clearing,
                The tither stooked raw,
            Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
                Wearing the day awa.

    E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r,
    A wish that to my latest hour
        Shall strongly heave my breast,
    That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
    Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
        Or sing a sang at least...

Robert Burns

Of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw

Tune - "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."


I.

    Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
        I dearly like the west,
    For there the bonnie lassie lives,
        The lassie I lo'e best:
    There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
        And mony a hill between;
    But day and night my fancy's flight
        Is ever wi' my Jean.

II.

    I see her in the dewy flowers,
        I see her sweet and fair:
    I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
        I hear her charm the air:
    There's not a bonnie flower that springs
        By fountain, shaw, or green,
    There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
        But minds me o' my Jean.

III.

    O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft
        Among the...

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

For He Was Scotch, And So Was She.

    They were a couple well content
    With what they earned and what they spent,
    Cared not a whit for style's decree -
    For he was Scotch, and so was she.

    And oh, they loved to talk of Burns -
    Dear blithesome, tender Bobby Burns!
    They never wearied of his song,
    He never sang a note too strong.
    One little fault could neither see -
    For he was Scotch, and so was she.

    They loved to read of men who stood
    And gave for country life and blood,
    Who held their faith so grand a thing
    They scorned to yield it to a king.
    Ah, proud of such they well might be -
    For he was Scotch, and so was she.

    From neighbors' broils they kept away;
    No liking for such things had they,
    And oh, ea...

Jean Blewett