Robert Burns

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796), also known familiarly as Rabbie Burns, the National Bard, Bard of Ayrshire and the Ploughman Poet and various other names and epithets,[nb 1] was a Scottish poet and lyricist.
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Upon that night, when fairies
On Cassilis Downans dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
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At a relic aul' croft upon the hill,
Roon the neuk frae Sprottie's mill,
Tryin' a' his life tae jine the
Lived Geordie
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Inscribed to R
Aiken,
Esq
"Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor...
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O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab
She's down in the yard, she's kissin the laird,
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab
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Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daises white Out o'er the grassy lea Now Pheebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight That fas...
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Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland Lassie,
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Wee, modest, crimson-tipp èd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem
Alas
it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Ben...
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There's nane that's blest of human
But the cheerful and the gay, man
Here's a bottle and an honest friend
What wad ye wish for mair, man
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Talk not of love, it gives me pain,
For love has been my foe;
He bound me in an iron chain,
And plung'd me deep in woe
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Let other poets raise a
Bout vines, and wines, an drucken Bacchus,
An crabbit names an stories wrack us,     An grate our lug:
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,     In glass or Jug
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Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory
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O on the fourteenth day of February we sailed from the
In the bold Princess Royal bound for Newfoundland
We had forty bright sailors for our ship's companie,
And boldly from the eastward to the westward sailed we
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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,
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Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers:
While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine The wear...
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There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
John Barleycorn A Ballad
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O Mary, at thy window be
It is the wish'd the trysted hour
Those smiles and glances let me see,     That makes the miser's treasure poor
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,     A weary slave frae sun to sun,
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