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Wells's History Presidential Inaugurals ----- All Fiction ----- Shelf of Fiction Ghost Stories Short Stories Shaw, G.B. Stein, G. Stevenson, R.L. Wells, H.G. Verse > Harvard Classics > Robert Burns > Poems and Songs > Index to First Lines CONTENTS · BOOK CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD Robert Burns. (1759–1796).  Poems and Songs. The Harvard Classics.  1909–14.   Index to First Lines   Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu Admiring Nature in her wildest grace Adown winding Nith I did wander Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl Ae fond kiss, and then we sever Afar the illustrious Exile roams Again rejoicing Nature sees Again the silent wheels of time A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Ah, Chloris, since it may not be Ah, woe is me, my mother dear! All hail! inexorable lord! All villain as I am—a damnèd wretch Altho’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller Altho’ my back be at the wa’ Altho’ my bed were in yon muir Altho’ thou maun never be mine Amang the trees, where humming bees Among the heathy hills and ragged woods Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! An honest man here lies at rest Anna, thy charms my bosom fire An somebody were come again A rose-bud by my early walk As cauld a wind as ever blew As down the burn they took their way As father Adam first was fool’d As I cam by Crochallan As I gaed down the water-side As I gaed up by yon gate-end As I stood by yon roofless tower As I stood by yon roofless tower As I was a-wand’ring ae morning in spring As I was walking up the street Ask why God made the gem so small? A slave to Love’s unbounded sway As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegither As on the banks o’ wandering Nith As Tam the chapman on a day At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer A’ the lads o’ Thorniebank Auld chuckie Reekie’s sair distrest Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner Awa’ wi’ your witchcraft o’ Beauty’s alarms A’ ye wha live by sowps o’ drink   Beauteous Rosebud, young and gay Behind yon hills where Lugar flows Behold, my love, how green the groves Behold the hour, the boat, arrive! Behold the hour, the boat arrive Below thir stanes lie Jamie’s banes Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp Blest be M’Murdo to his latest day! Blythe hae I been on yon hill Braw, braw lads on Yarrow-braes But lately seen in gladsome green But warily tent when ye come to court me By Allan stream I chanc’d to rove By all I lov’d, neglected and forgot By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty By Oughtertyre grows the aik By yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day   Can I cease to care? Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west Cauld is the e’enin blast Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing Clarinda, mistres of my soul Come, bumpers high, express your joy Come, let me take thee to my breast Contented wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair Curs’d be the man, the poorest wretch in life Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased Daughter of Chaos’ doting years Dear ———, I’ll gie ye some advice Dear Myra, the captive ribband’s mine Dear Sir, at ony time or tide Dear Smith, the slee’st, pawkie thief Deluded swain, the pleasure Dire was the hate at old Harlaw Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? Dost thou not rise, indignant shade Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo Dweller in yon dungeon dark   Earth’d up, here lies an imp o’ hell Edina! Scotia’s darling seat! Expect na, sir, in this narration   Fair Empress of the Poet’s soul Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face Fair maid, you need not take the hint Fair the face of orient day Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you Farewell, old Scotia’s bleak domains Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies Farewell, thou stream that winding flows Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong Fate gave the word, the arrow sped Fill me with the rosy wine Fintry, my stay in wordly strife First when Maggie was my care Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes For lords or kings I dinna mourn Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near For thee is laughing Nature gay Frae the friends and land I love Friday first’s the day appointed Friend of the Poet, tried and leal From thee, Eliza, I must go From the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloris requested From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells Full well thou know’st I love thee dear Fy, let us a’ to Kirkcudbright   Gane is the day, and mirk’s the night Gat ye me, O gat ye me Go, fetch to me a pint o’ wine Gracie, thou art a man of worth Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live Gude pity me, because I’m little! Guid-mornin’ to our Majesty! Guid speed and furder to you, Johnie   Had I a cave on some wild distant shore Had I the wyte, had I the wyte Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv’d! Hail, thairm-inspirin’, rattlin’ Willie! Hark the mavis’ e’ening sang Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? Health to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief! Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots He clenched his pamphlet in his fist Hee balou, my sweet wee Donald Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie Here Brewer Gabriel’s fire’s extinct Here cursing, swearing Burton lies Here Holy Willie’s sair worn clay Here is the glen, and here the bower Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm’d Here lies Boghead amang the dead Here lies John Bushby—honest man Here lies Johnie Pigeon Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect Here lie Willie Michie’s banes Here’s a bottle and an honest friend! Here’s a health to them that’s awa Here Souter Hood in death does sleep Here’s to thy health, my bonie lass Here Stuarts once in glory reigned Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead Hey, the dusty Miller His face with smile eternal drest Honest Will to Heaven’s away How can my poor heart be glad How cold is that bosom which folly once fired How cruel are the parents How daur ye ca’ me “Howlet-face”? How lang and dreary is the night How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee nam’d? How long and dreary is the night How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon How wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite Humid seal of soft affections “Husband, husband, cease your strife   I am a keeper of the law I am my mammny’s ae bairn I bought my wife a stane o’ lint I call no Goddess to inspire my strains I coft a stane o’ haslock woo’ I do confess thou art sae fair I dream’d I lay where flowers were springing I fee’d a man at Michaelmas If thou should ask my love If ye gae up to yon hill-tap If you rattle along like your Mistress’ tongue I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen I gaed up to Dunse I gat your letter, winsome Willie I had sax owsen in a pleugh I hae a wife of my ain I hae been at Crookieden I hold it, sir, my bounden duty I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend Ilk care and fear, when thou art near Ill-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! I mind it weel in early date I’m now arrived—thanks to the gods! I’m three times doubly o’er your debtor I murder hate by flood or field In comin by the brig o’ Dye I never saw a fairer Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rous art In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles In Politics if thou would’st mix In se’enteen hunder’n forty-nine In simmer, when the hay was mawn Instead of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men In this strange land, this uncouth clime In wood and wild, ye warbling throng I see a form, I see a face I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth Is there a whim-inspirèd fool Is there for honest Poverty Is this thy plighted, fond regard Ithers seek they ken na what It is na, Jean, thy bonie face It was a’ for our rightfu’ King It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral It was the charming month of May It was upon a Lammas night   Jockey’s taen the parting kiss John Anderson, my jo, John   Kemble, thou cur’st my unbelief Ken ye aught o’ Captain Grose? Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an’ claw Kind Sir, I’ve read your paper through Know thou, O stranger to the fame   Lament him, Mauchline husbands a’ Lament in rhyme, lament in prose Last May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen Late crippl’d of an arm, and now a leg Let not Woman e’er complain Let other heroes boast their scars Let other poets raise a fracas Life ne’er exulted in so rich a prize Light lay the earth on Billy’s breast Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Long life, my Lord, an’ health be yours Lord, to account who dares thee call Lord, we thank, and thee adore Loud blaw the frosty breezes Louis, what reck I by thee   Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Maxwell, if merit here you crave Musing on the roaring ocean My blessings on ye, honest wife! My blessin’s upon thy sweet wee lippie! My curse upon your venom’d stang My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O My girl she’s airy, she’s buxom and gay My godlike friend—nay, do not stare My Harry was a gallant gay My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie My heart is sair—I dare na tell My heart is wae, and unco wae My heart was ance as blithe and free My honor’d Colonel, deep I feel My lord a-hunting he is gone My lord, I know your noble ear My lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend! My love, she’s but a lassie yet My Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form My Sandy gied to me a ring   Nae gentle dames, tho’ e’er sae fair Nae heathen name shall I prefix No churchman am I for to rail and to write No cold approach, no altered mien No more of your guests, be they titled or not No more, ye warblers of the wood! no more No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay No song nor dance I bring from yon great city No Spartan tube, no Attic shell Now haply down yon gay green shaw Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea Now Nature hangs her mantle green Now Robin lies in his last lair Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowers Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes Now spring has clad the grove in green Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns   O a’ ye pious godly flocks O bonie was yon rosy brier O cam ye here the fight to shun O could I give thee India’s wealth O Death, had’st thou but spar’d his life O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw Of Lordly acquaintance you boast O Gowdie, terror o’ the whigs O had each Scot of ancient times O had the malt thy strength of mind Oh I am come to the low Countrie Oh, open the door, some pity to shew O how can I be blythe and glad O how shall I, unskilfu’, try O Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten O lady Mary Ann looks o’er the Castle wa’ O lassie, are ye sleepin yet Old Winter, with his frosty beard O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide O Lord, when hunger pinches sore O luve will venture in where it daur na weel be seen O Mary, at thy window be O may, thy morn was ne’er so sweet O meikle thinks my luve o’ my beauty O merry hae I been teethin’ a heckle O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour O my Luve’s like a red, red rose On a bank of flowers, in a summer day Once fondly lov’d, and still remember’d dear On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells One night as I did wander One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell On peace an’ rest my mind was bent O once I lov’d a bonie lass O Philly, happy be that day O poortith cauld, and restless love Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d with care O raging Fortune’s withering blast O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine Orthodox! orthodox, who believe in John Knox O sad and heavy, should I part O saw ye bonie Lesley O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? O saw ye my Dear, my Philly? O sing a new song to the Lord O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay O steer her up, an’ haud her gaun O that I had ne’er been married O Thou dread Power, who reign’st above O Thou Great Being! what Thou art O thou, in whom we live and move O thou pale orb that silent shines O Thou, the first, the greatest friend O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause O Thou! whatever title suit thee O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell O thou who kindly dost provide O Thou whom Poetry abhors Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair Out over the Forth, I look to the North O wat ye wha that lo’es me O, were I on Parnassus hill O were my love yon Lilac fair O wert thou in the cauld blast O wha my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will to Saint Stephen’s House O when she cam’ ben she bobbed fu’ law O why the deuce should I repine O Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? O ye wha are sae guid yoursel’ O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains   Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare “Praise Woman still,” his lordship roars   Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Raving winds around her blowing Revered defender of beauteous Stuart Right, sir! your text I’ll prove it true Rusticity’s ungainly form   Sad thy tale, thou idle page Sae flaxen were her ringlets Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled Searching auld wives’ barrels Sensibility, how charming She’s fair and fause that causes my smart Should auld acquaintance be forgot Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came Sic a reptile was Wat, sic a miscreant slave Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough Sir, as your mandate did request Sir, o’er a gill I gat your card Sleep’st thou, or wak’st thou, fairest creature? Some books are lies frae end to end Stay my charmer, can you leave me? Still anxious to secure your partial favour Stop, passenger! my story’s brief “Stop thief!” dame Nature call’d to Death Strait is the spot and green the sod Streams that glide in orient plains Sweet are the banks—the banks o’ Doon Sweet closes the ev’ning on Craigieburn Wood Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn Sweet flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love Sweet naïveté of feature   That there is a falsehood in his looks The bairns gat out wi’ an unco shout The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw The Catrine woods were yellow seen The Cooper o’ Cuddy came here awa The day returns, my bosom burns The deil cam fiddlin’ thro’ the town The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa’s The friend whom, wild from Wisdom’s way The gloomy night is gath’ring fast The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon The King’s most humble servant, I The Laddies by the banks o’ Nith The lamp of day, with-ill presaging glare The last time I came o’er the moor The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill The lovely lass o’ Inverness The man, in life wherever plac’d The night was still, and o’er the hill The noble Maxwells and their powers The poor man weeps—here Gavin sleeps There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes There’s Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen There’s a youth in this city, it were a great pity There’s Death in the cup, so beware! There’s nane sall ken, there’s nane can guess There’s news, lassies, news There’s nought but care on ev’ry han’ There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass There was a lad was born in Kyle There was a lass, and she was fair There was a lass, they ca’d her Meg There was a wife wonn’d in Cockpen There was five Carlins in the South There was once a day, but old Time wasythen young There was three kings into the east The Robin to the Wren’s nest The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing The Solemn League and Covenant The sun had clos’d the winter day The sun he is sunk in the west The Thames flows proudly to the sea The wind blew hollow frae the hills The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last The wintry west extends his blast They snool me sair, and haud me down Thickest night, o’erhang my dwelling! Thine am I, my faithful Fair Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair This day, Time winds th’ exhausted chain This wot ye all whom it concerns Tho’ cruel fate should bid us part Thou flatt’ring mark of friendship kind Though fickle Fortune has deceived me Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures Thou hast left me ever, Jamie Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme Thou ling’ring star, with lessening ray Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign Thou of an independent mind Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me Thou whom chance may hither lead Thou whom chance may hither lead Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever’st Tho’ women’s minds, like winter winds Through and through th’ inspir’d leaves ’Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair Friend To Riddell, much lamented man To you, sir, this summons I’ve sent True hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow Turn again, thou fair Eliza! ’Twas even—the dewy fields were green ’Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s isle ’Twas in the seventeen hunder year ’Twas na her bonie blue e’e was my ruin ’Twas on a Monday morning   Upon a simmer Sunday morn Upon that night, when fairies light Up wi’ the carls o’ Dysart   Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in my e’e Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! We cam na here to view your warks Wee, modest crimson-tippèd flow’r Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet We grant they’re thine, those beauties all Wha, in a brulyie, will Wha is that at my bower-door? Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass Whare live ye, my bonie lass? What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie What dost thou in that mansion fair? What needs this din about the town o’ Lon’on What will I do gin my Hoggie die? Wha will buy my troggin, fine election ware When biting Boreas, fell and dour When, by a generous Public’s kind acclaim When chapman billies leave the street When chill November’s surly blast When dear Clarinda, matchless fair When Death’s dark stream I ferry o’er When first I came to Stewart Kyle When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town When Guilford good our pilot stood When Januar’ wind was blawing cauld When Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart When lyart leaves bestrow the yird When Morine, deceas’d, to the Devil went down When Nature her great master-piece design’d When o’er the hill the eastern star When Princes and Prelates When rosy May comes in wi’ flowers When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn Where are the joys I have met in the morning Where, braving angry winter’s storms Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea Where hae ye been sae braw, lad? While at the stook the shearers cow’r While briers an’ woodbines budding green While Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty things While larks, with little wing While new-ca’d kye rowte at the stake While virgin Spring by Eden’s flood While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw Whoe’er he be that sojourns here Whoe’er thou art, O reader, know Whom will you send to London town Whose is that noble, dauntless brow? Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Why, why tell thy lover Why, ye tenants of the lake Wi’ braw new branks in mickle pride Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary Wilt thou be my Dearie? Wishfully I look and languish With Esop’s lion, Burns says: Sore I feel With Pegasus upon a day With secret throes I marked that earth Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!   Ye banks, and braes, and streams around Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon Ye gallants bright, I rede you right Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? Ye Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear Ye maggots, feed on Nicol’s brain Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie Yestreen I had a pint o’ wine Yestreen I met you on the moor Ye true “Loyal Natives” attend to my song Yon wandering rill that marks the hill Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide Young Jamie, pride of a’ the plain Young Jockie was the blythest lad Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt You’re welcome to Despots, Dumourier Your friendship much can make me blest Your News and Review, sir. Yours this moment I unseal CONTENTS · BOOK CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD   Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore. Welcome · Press · Advertising · Linking · Terms of Use · © 2008 Bartleby.com