Gane Is The Day / Robert Burns

I.

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night,

But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light,

For ale and brandy's stars and moon,

And blude-red wine's the rising sun.

Then gudewife count the lawin,

The lawin, the lawin;

Then gudewife count the lawin,

And bring a coggie mair!

Fragment to C.J. Fox / Robert Burns

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite;

How virtue and vice blend their black and their white;

How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction,

Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction--

I sing: if these mortals, the critics, should bustle,

I care not, not I--let the critics go whistle!

Flow Gently, Sweet Afton / Robert Burns

I.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream--

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

First Epistle to Robert Graham Esq of Fintray / Robert Burns

When Nature her great master-piece designed,

And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind,

Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,

She form'd of various parts the various man.

First Epistle to Davie / Robert Burns

I.

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,

And bar the doors wi' driving snaw,

And hing us owre the ingle,

I set me down to pass the time,

And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme,

In hamely westlin jingle.

While frosty winds blaw in the drift,

Ben to the chimla lug,

I grudge a wee the great folks' gift,

That live sae bien an' snug:

I tent less and want less

Their roomy fire-side;

But hanker and canker

To see their cursed pride.

Epitaph on Holy Willie / Robert Burns

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay

Takes up its last abode;

His saul has ta'en some other way,

I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,

Poor, silly body, see him;

Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,

Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Epistle to William Creech / Robert Burns

Auld chukie Reekie's sair distrest,

Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest,

Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest

Can yield ava,

Her darling bird that she lo'es best,

Willie's awa!

Epistle to Major Logan / Robert Burns

Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie!

Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly

To every fiddling, rhyming billie,

We never heed,

But tak' it like the unback'd filly,

Proud o' her speed.

Epistle to Hugh Parker / Robert Burns

In this strange land, this uncouth clime,

A land unknown to prose or rhyme;

Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles,

Nor limpet in poetic shackles:

A land that prose did never view it,

Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it,

Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek,

Hid in an atmosphere of reek,

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk,

Duncan Gray / Robert Burns

I.

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray--

Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray--

Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

When a' the lave gae to their play,

Then I maun sit the lee lang day,

And jog the cradle wi' my tae,

And a' for the girdin o't!

Despondency: An Ode / Robert Burns

I.

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,

Along a rough, a weary road,

To wretches such as I!

Dim-backward as I cast my view,

What sick'ning scenes appear!

What sorrows yet may pierce me thro'

Too justly I may fear!

Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom;

My woes here shall close ne'er

But with the closing tomb!

Death and Dr. Hornbrook / Robert Burns

A TRUE STORY.

Some books are lies frae end to end,

And some great lies were never penn'd:

Ev'n ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd,

In holy rapture,

A rousing whid, at times, to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

Craigie-burn Wood / Robert Burns

I.

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,

And blithe awakes the morrow;

But a' the pride o' spring's return

Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

Country Lassie / Robert Burns

I.

In simmer, when the hay was mawn,

And corn wav'd green in ilka field,

While claver blooms white o'er the lea,

And roses blaw in ilka bield;

Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says--I'll be wed, come o't what will;

Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild--

O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

Coming Through the Rye / Robert Burns

I.

Coming through the rye, poor body,

Coming through the rye,

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Jenny's a' wat, poor body,

Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Come Boat Me O'er To Charlie / Robert Burns

I.

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,

Come boat me o'er to Charlie;

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,

To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,

We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,

And live or die wi' Charlie.

Cock Up Your Beaver / Robert Burns

I.

When first my brave Johnnie lad

Came to this town,

He had a blue bonnet

That wanted the crown;

But now he has gotten

A hat and a feather,--

Hey, brave Johnnie lad,

Cock up your beaver!

Captain Matthew Henderson / Robert Burns

O death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!

The meikle devil wi' a woodie

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,

O'er hurcheon hides,

And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie

Wi' thy auld sides!

Caledonia / Robert Burns

Tune--Caledonian Hunt's Delight."

I.

There was once a day--but old Time then was young--

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,

From some of your northern deities sprung,

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?)

From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:

Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign,

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.

Ca' The Ewes / Robert Burns

CHORUS

Ca' the ewes to the knowes,

Ca' them whare the heather grows,

Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,

My bonnie dearie!