Robert Burns Poems
- 301. On Elphinston's Translations. Of Martial's Epigrams.
O thou, whom poesy abhors,
Whom prose has turned out of doors,
Heard'st thou that groan? proceed no further;
- 302. Written In A Lady's Pocket-book.
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
- 303. The Toast.
Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast,
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!
That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
- 304. Epitaph On William Nicol.
Ye maggots, feast on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
- 305. The Parson's Looks.
That there is falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny;
They say their master is a knave,
- 306. Inscription On A Goblet.
There's death in the cup, sae beware!
Nay, more, there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?
- 307. On A Henpecked Country Squire.
As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
- 308. On Captain Francis Grose.
The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,
So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying;
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,
- 309. On Wat.
Sic a reptile was Wat,
Sic a miscreant slave,
That the very worms damn'd him
- 310. On A Friend.
An honest man here lies at rest
As e'er God with his image blest!
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
- 311. The Kirk Of Lamington.
As cauld a wind as ever blew,
As caulder kirk, and in't but few;
As cauld a minister's e'er spak,
- 312. The Invitation.
The King's most humble servant I,
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I am yours at dinner-time,
- 313. The Henpecked Husband.
Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
- 314. To Mr. Syme.
No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cook'ry the first in the nation;
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
- 315. Lines Written Under The Picture Of The Celebrated Miss Burns.
Cease, ye prudes, your envious railings,
Lovely Burns has charms, confess:
True it is, she had one failing,
- 316. On A Schoolmaster.
Here lie Willie Michie's banes;
O, Satan! when ye tak' him,
Gi' him the schoolin' o' your weans,
- 317. To Mr. Syme. With A Present Of A Dozen Of Porter.
O, had the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit,
'Twere drink for first of human kind,
- 318. On The Author's Father.
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,
- 319. Extempore In The Court Of Session.
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,
- 320. A Grace.
Lord, we thank and thee adore,
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more,
- 321. On Wee Johnny. Hic Jacet Wee Johnny.
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,
That death has murder'd Johnny!
An' here his body lies fu' low
- 322. Impromptu, To Miss Ainslie.
Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue:-
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
- 323. Verses Written On A Window Of The Inn At Carron.
We came na here to view your warks
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
- 324. The Reply. (the Reproof.)
Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel
All others' scorn, but damn that ass's heel.
- 325. On Miss Jean Scott.
Oh! had each Scot of ancient times,
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
- 326. Poem On Life, Addressed To Colonel De Peyster. Dumfries, 1796.
My honoured colonel, deep I feel
Your interest in the Poet's weal;
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel
- 327. The Heron Ballads. (ballad First.)
Whom will you send to London town,
- 328. To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries. With Johnson's 'musical Museum.'
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer;
That fate may in her fairest page,
- 329. Written At Inverary.
Whoe'er he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon
- 330. For Gavin Hamilton.
The poor man weeps, here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam'd:
But with such as he, where'er he be,
- 331. Poetical Inscription For An Altar To Independence.
Thou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
- 332. On The Same. (on A Henpecked Country Squire.)
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her,
- 333. Poem, Addressed To Mr. Mitchell, Collector Of Excise. Dumfries, 1796.
Friend of the Poet, tried and leal,
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;
Alake, alake, the meikle deil
- 334. On A Noisy Polemic.
Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,
Thou ne'er took such a blethrin' b--ch
- 335. Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn.
The wind blew hollow frae the hills,
- 336. The Laddies By The Banks O' Nith.
The laddies by the banks o' Nith,
Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie,
But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the King,
- 337. To Mr. M'adam, Of Craigen-gillan.
Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;
See wha tak's notice o' the bard
- 338. To John Maxwell Of Terraughty, On His Birthday.
Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief!
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief:
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf
- 339. To J. Lapraik. (second Epistle.)
April 21st, 1785.
- 340. Prologue Spoken By Mr. Woods On His Benefit Night, Monday, 16 April, 1787.
When by a generous Public's kind acclaim,
That dearest meed is granted, honest fame;
When here your favour is the actor's lot,
- 341. Monody, On A Lady Famed For Her Caprice.
How cold is that bosom which folly once fired,
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd!
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,
- 342. Poem On Pastoral Poetry.
Hail Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd
- 343. Lines, Sent To A Gentleman Whom He Had Offended.
The friend whom wild from wisdom's way,
The fumes of wine infuriate send;
(Not moony madness more astray;)
- 344. Written In Friars-carse Hermitage, On The Banks Of Nith. June. 1788. (first Copy.)
Thou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deck'd in silken stole,
- 345. The Vowels. - A Tale.
'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd,
The noisy domicile of pedant pride;
Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws,
- 346. To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintray.
Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg,
About to beg a pass for leave to beg:
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest,
- 347. Impromptu, On Mrs. R----'s Birthday.
Old Winter, with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd,
What have I done of all the year,
- 348. Epistle To Major Logan.
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie!
Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly
To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
- 349. A Mother's Lament For The Death Of Her Son.
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc'd my darling's heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
- 350. Verses To John Rankine.
Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
Total 973 poems written by Robert Burns