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Poems begining by &

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80. The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata

© Robert Burns

AirTune—“Soldier’s Joy.”I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.

283. Song—Willie brew’d a Peck o’ Maut

© Robert Burns

O WILLIE 1 brew’d a peck o’ maut,
And Rob and Allen cam to see;
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wadna found in Christendie.

358. A Grace after Dinner

© Robert Burns

O THOU, in whom we live and move—
Who made the sea and shore;
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore;

15. Winter: A Dirge

© Robert Burns

THE WINTRY west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:

490. Song—The charming month of May

© Robert Burns

Chorus.—Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o’er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

24. Song—No Churchman am I

© Robert Burns

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-belly’d bottle’s the whole of my care.

51. On Tam the Chapman

© Robert Burns

AS Tam the chapman on a day,
Wi’Death forgather’d by the way,
Weel pleas’d, he greets a wight so famous,
And Death was nae less pleas’d wi’ Thomas,

540. Inscription to Chloris

© Robert Burns

’TIS Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair Friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,
Nor with unwilling ear attend
The moralising Muse.

341. Song—My Bonie Bell

© Robert Burns

THE SMILING Spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly Winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonie blue are the sunny skies.

45. My Girl she’s Airy: A Fragment

© Robert Burns

MY girl she’s airy, she’s buxom and gay;
Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May;
A touch of her lips it ravishes quite:
She’s always good natur’d, good humour’d, and free;
She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me;
I never am happy when out of her sight.

38. Epitaph on my Ever Honoured Father

© Robert Burns

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
Draw near with pious rev’rence, and attend!
Here lie the loving husband’s dear remains,
The tender father, and the gen’rous friend;

306. Election Ballad at close of Contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790

© Robert Burns

Now, for my friends’ and brethren’s sakes,
And for my dear-lov’d Land o’ Cakes,
I pray with holy fire:
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o’ Hell
O’er a’ wad Scotland buy or sell,
To grind them in the mire!

412. A Grace after Meat

© Robert Burns

LORD, we thank, and thee adore,
For temporal gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more—
Let William Hislop give the spirit.

235. Song—The Fall of the Leaf

© Robert Burns

THE LAZY mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.

133. The Brigs of Ayr

© Robert Burns

THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from ev’ry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush;

391. A Tippling Ballad—When Princes and Prelates, etc.

© Robert Burns

WHEN Princes and Prelates,
And hot-headed zealots,
A’ Europe had set in a low, a low,
The poor man lies down,

431. Song—Robert Bruce’s March to Bannockburn

© Robert Burns

SCOTS, wha hae wi’ WALLACE bled,
Scots, wham BRUCE has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!

34. Remorse: A Fragment

© Robert Burns

OF all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish
Beyond comparison the worst are those
By our own folly, or our guilt brought on:

302. Elegy on Willie Nicol’s Mare

© Robert Burns

PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay mare,
As ever trod on airn;
But now she’s floating down the Nith,
And past the mouth o’ Cairn.

19. A Prayer in the Prospect of Death

© Robert Burns

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

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