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    Burns: 'A Red, Red Rose' and Other Poems
    Burns: 'A Red, Red Rose' and Other Poems
    Burns: 'A Red, Red Rose' and Other Poems
    Ebook121 pages51 minutes

    Burns: 'A Red, Red Rose' and Other Poems

    By Robert Burns

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    About this ebook

    In his short life, Robert Burns forged for himself a reputation as a poet and songwriter that has never been eclipsed. Today, more than 200 years after his death, his verse remains among the most popular in the world.

    Best known for his dialect lyrical verse on nature, love, patriotism and rural life, as well as for such well-loved songs as 'Auld Lang Syne' and 'Robert Bruce's March to Bannockburn' ('Scots Wha Hae'), he was equally as skilful with great lyrics on philosophical subjects. Offering everything from simple ballads to great set pieces like 'Tam O'Shanter', this collection celebrates the work of the poor farmer-turned-exciseman who became, literally, the voice of an entire nation.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael O'Mara
    Release dateNov 3, 2016
    ISBN9781782437147
    Burns: 'A Red, Red Rose' and Other Poems
    Author

    Robert Burns

    Robert Burns has been involved in the areas of self improvement and assisting people in becoming who they were meant to be from birth. He knows that stories play a significant role in our life's choices and future accomplishments. This short story has a wealth of information concerning friendship so I hope you enjoy the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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      Book preview

      Burns - Robert Burns

      subjects.

      Song – Mary Morison

      (1780)

      O Mary, at thy window be,

      It is the wish’d, the trysted hour;

      Those smiles and glances let me see,

      That make the miser’s treasure poor:

      How blythely wad I bide the stoure,

      A weary slave frae sun to sun,

      Could I the rich reward secure,

      The lovely Mary Morison.

      Yestreen, when to the trembling string

      The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,

      To thee my fancy took its wing,

      I sat, but neither heard nor saw:

      Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,

      And yon the toast of a’ the town,

      I sigh’d, and said amang them a’,

      ‘Ye are na Mary Morison.’

      O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

      Wha for thy sake wad gladly die!

      Or canst thou break that heart of his,

      Whase only faut is loving thee.

      If love for love thou wilt na gie,

      At least be pity to me shown;

      A thought ungentle canna be

      The thought o’ Mary Morison.

      Winter: A Dirge

      (1781)

      The wintry west extends his blast,

      And hail and rain does blaw;

      Or the stormy north sends driving forth

      The blinding sleet and snaw:

      While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

      And roars frae bank to brae;

      And bird and beast in covert rest,

      And pass the heartless day.

      ‘The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,’

      The joyless winter day

      Let others fear, to me more dear

      Than all the pride of May:

      The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,

      My griefs it seems to join;

      The leafless trees my fancy please,

      Their fate resembles mine!

      Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

      These woes of mine fulfil,

      Here firm I rest; they must be best,

      Because they are Thy will!

      Then all I want – O do Thou grant

      This one request of mine! –

      Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

      Assist me to resign.

      Prayer, in the Prospect of Death

      (1781)

      O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

      Of all my hope and fear!

      In whose dread presence, ere an hour,

      Perhaps I must appear!

      If I have wander’d in those paths

      Of life I ought to shun,

      As something, loudly, in my breast,

      Remonstrates I have done;

      Thou know’st that Thou hast formed me

      With passions wild and strong;

      And list’ning to their witching voice

      Has often led me wrong.

      Where human weakness has come short,

      Or frailty stept aside,

      Do Thou, All-Good – for such Thou art –

      In shades of darkness hide.

      Where with intention I have err’d,

      No other plea I have,

      But, Thou art good; and Goodness still

      Delighteth to forgive.

      Fickle Fortune: a Fragment

      (1782)

      Though fickle Fortune has deceived me,

      She promis’d fair and perform’d but ill;

      Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav’d me,

      Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.

      I’ll act with prudence as far’s I’m able,

      But if success I must never find,

      Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,

      I’ll meet thee with an undaunted mind.

      Impromptu – I’ll Go and be a Sodger

      (1782)

      O why the deuce should I repine,

      And be an ill foreboder?

      I’m twenty-three, and five feet nine,

      I’ll go and be a sodger!

      I gat some gear wi’ mickle care,

      I held it weel thegither;

      But now it’s gane, and something mair –

      I’ll go and be a sodger!

      Song – No Churchman am I

      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.

      The peer I don’t envy, I give him his bow;

      I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low;

      But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,

      And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

      Here passes the squire on his brother – his horse;

      There centum per centum, the cit with his purse;

      But see you the Crown how it waves in the air?

      There a big-belly’d bottle still eases my care.

      The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;

      For sweet consolation to church I did fly;

      I found that old Solomon proved it fair,

      That a big-belly’d bottle’s a cure for all care.

      I once was persuaded a venture to make;

      A letter inform’d me that all

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