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Poems begining by &

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497. Song—The Tear-drop—“Wae is my heart”

© Robert Burns

WAE is my heart, and the tear’s in my e’e;
Lang, lang has Joy been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o’ Pity ne’er sounds in my ear.

105. Despondency: An Ode

© Robert Burns

OPPRESS’D with grief, oppress’d with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I set me down and sigh;
O life! thou art a galling load,

178. Impromptu on Carron Iron Works

© Robert Burns

WE cam na here to view your warks,
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:

1. Song—Handsome Nell

© Robert Burns

O ONCE I lov’d a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I’ll love my handsome Nell.

46. The Belles of Mauchline

© Robert Burns

IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a’;
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,
In Lon’on or Paris, they’d gotten it a’.

159. Song—My Lord a-Hunting he is gane

© Robert Burns

Chorus.—MY lady’s gown, there’s gairs upon’t,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon’t;
But Jenny’s jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks meikle mair upon’t.

53. Lines on the Author’s Death

© Robert Burns

HE who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead,
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed.

309. Verses on Captain Grose

© Robert Burns

KEN ye aught o’ Captain Grose?—Igo, and ago,
If he’s amang his friends or foes?—Iram, coram, dago.

486. Song—Inconstancy in love

© Robert Burns

LET not Woman e’er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not Woman e’er complain
Fickle Man is apt to rove:

163. On Elphinstone’s Translation of Martial’s Epigrams

© Robert Burns

O THOU whom Poetry abhors,
Whom Prose has turnèd out of doors,
Heard’st thou yon groan?—proceed no further,
’Twas laurel’d Martial calling murther.

399. Song—Open the door to me, oh

© Robert Burns

OH, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh,
Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh.

551. Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election—No. 4

© Robert Burns

WHA will buy my troggin, fine election ware,
Broken trade o’ Broughton, a’ in high repair?

353. Poem on Sensibility

© Robert Burns

SENSIBILITY, how charming,
Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell;
But distress, with horrors arming,
Thou alas! hast known too well!

404. Epigram—The True Loyal Natives

© Robert Burns

YE true “Loyal Natives” attend to my song
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long;
From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt,
But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!

77. Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper

© Robert Burns

Strong ale was ablution,
Small beer persecution,
A dram was memento mori;
But a full-flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory.

91. The Vision

© Robert Burns

“And wear thou this”—she solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polish’d leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away. [To Mrs. Stewart of Stair Burns presented a manuscript copy of the Vision. That copy embraces about twenty stanzas at the end of Duan First, which he cancelled when he came to print the price in his Kilmarnock volume. Seven of these he restored in printing his second edition, as noted on p. 174. The following are the verses which he left unpublished.]

362. Song—Thou Gloomy December

© Robert Burns

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
Ance mair I hail thee wi’ sorrow and care;
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember—
Parting wi’ Nancy, oh, ne’er to meet mair!

40. Reply to an Announcement by J. Rankine

© Robert Burns

I hae been in for’t ance or twice,
And winna say o’er far for thrice;
Yet never met wi’ that surprise
That broke my rest;
But now a rumour’s like to rise—
A whaup’s i’ the nest!

213. Song—Up in the Morning Early

© Robert Burns

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

36. Epitaph on James Grieve

© Robert Burns

HERE lies Boghead amang the dead
In hopes to get salvation;
But if such as he in Heav’n may be,
Then welcome, hail! damnation.

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