by Robert Burns
I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my Auntie, O; 10
But I met the devil an’ Dundee,
On the Braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, &c.
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,
An’ Clavers gat a clankie, O; 15
Or I had fed an Athole gled,
On the Braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, &c.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
289.
Awa’, Whigs, Awa’ (Song)
Chorus. — Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Ye’re but a pack o’ traitor louns,
Ye’ll do nae gude at a’.
OUR thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair, 5
And bonie bloom’d our roses;
But Whigs cam’ like a frost in June,
An’ wither’d a’ our posies.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.
Our ancient crown’s fa’en in the dust — 10
Deil blin’ them wi’ the stoure o’t!
An’ write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o’t.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.
Our sad decay in church and state 15
Surpasses my descriving:
The Whigs cam’ o’er us for a curse,
An’ we hae done wi’ thriving.
Awa’ Whigs, &c.
Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, 20
But we may see him wauken:
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
Awa’ Whigs, &c.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
290.
A Waukrife Minnie (Song)
WHARE are you gaun, my bonie lass,
Whare are you gaun, my hinnie?
She answered me right saucilie,
“An errand for my minnie.”
O whare live ye, my bonie lass, 5
O whare live ye, my hinnie?
“By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken,
In a wee house wi’ my minnie.”
But I foor up the glen at e’en.
To see my bonie lassie; 10
And lang before the grey morn cam,
She was na hauf sae saucie.
O weary fa’ the waukrife cock,
And the foumart lay his crawin!
He wauken’d the auld wife frae her sleep, 15
A wee blink or the dawin.
An angry wife I wat she raise,
And o’er the bed she brocht her;
And wi’ a meikle hazel rung
She made her a weel-pay’d dochter. 20
O fare thee weel, my bonie lass,
O fare thee well, my hinnie!
Thou art a gay an’ a bonnie lass,
But thou has a waukrife minnie.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
291.
The Captive Ribband (Song)
Tune— “Robaidh dona gorach.”
DEAR Myra, the captive ribband’s mine,
‘Twas all my faithful love could gain;
And would you ask me to resign
The sole reward that crowns my pain?
Go, bid the hero who has run 5
Thro’ fields of death to gather fame,
Go, bid him lay his laurels down,
And all his well-earn’d praise disclaim.
The ribband shall its freedom lose —
Lose all the bliss it had with you, 10
And share the fate I would impose
On thee, wert thou my captive too.
It shall upon my bosom live,
Or clasp me in a close embrace;
And at its fortune if you grieve, 15
Retrieve its doom, and take its place.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
292.
Farewell to the Highlands (Song)
Tune— “Failte na Miosg.”
FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Chorus. — My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 5
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains, high-cover’d with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below; 10
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart’s in the Highlands, &c.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
293.
The Whistle: A Ballad
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North.
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 5
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall —
“The Whistle’s your challenge, to Scotland get o’er,
And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne’er see me more!”
Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,
What champions ventur’d, what champions fell: 10
The son of great Loda was conqueror still,
And blew on the Whistle their requiem shrill.
Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur,
Unmatch’d at the bottle, unconquer’d in war,
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea; 15
No tide of the Baltic e’er drunker than he.
Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain’d;
Which now in his house has for ages remain’d;
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood,
The jovial contest again have renew’d. 20
Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw
Craigdarroch, so famous for with, worth, and law;
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill’d in old coins;
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.
Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 25
Desiring Downrightly to yield up the spoil;
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan,
And once more, in claret, try which was the man.
“By the gods of the ancients!” Downrightly replies,
“Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 30
I’ll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o’er.”
Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend,
But he ne’er turn’d his back on his foe, or his friend;
Said, “Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field,” 35
And, knee-deep in claret, he’d die ere he’d yield.
To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care;
But, for wine and for welcome, not more known to fame,
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 40
A bard was selected to witness the fray,
And tell future ages the feats of the day;
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen,
And wish’d that Parnassus a vineyard had been.
The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 45
And ev’ry new cork is a new spring of joy;
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set,
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.
Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers
ran o’er:
Bright Phoebus ne’er witness’d so joyous a core, 50
And vow’d that to leave them he was quite forlorn,
Till Cynthia hinted he’d see them next morn.
Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night,
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,
Turn’d o’er in one bumper a bottle of red, 55
And swore ‘twas the way that their ancestor did.
Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage;
A high Ruling Elder to wallow in wine;
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 60
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end;
But who can with Fate and quart bumpers contend!
Though Fate said, a hero should perish in light;
So uprose bright Phoebus-and down fell the knight.
Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink: — 65
“Craigdarroch, thou’lt soar when creation shall sink!
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme,
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime!
“Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce,
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce: 70
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay;
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!”
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
294.
To Mary in Heaven (Song)
THOU ling’ring star, with lessening ray,
That lov’st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher’st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear departed shade! 5
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow’d grove, 10
Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past,
Thy image at our last embrace, 15
Ah! little thought we ‘twas our last!
Ayr, gurgling, kiss’d his pebbled shore,
O’erhung with wild-woods, thickening green;
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar,
‘Twin’d amorous round the raptur’d scene: 20
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray;
Till too, too soon, the glowing west,
Proclaim’d the speed of winged day.
Still o’er these scenes my mem’ry wakes, 25
And fondly broods with miser-care;
Time but th’ impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear,
My Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy blissful place of rest? 30
See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
295.
Epistle to Dr. Blacklock
ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.
WOW, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weel and cantie?
I ken’d it still, your wee bit jauntie
Wad bring ye to:
Lord send you aye as weel’s I want ye! 5
And then ye’ll do.
The ill-thief blaw the Heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!
He tauld myself by word o’ mouth,
He’d tak my letter; 10
I lippen’d to the chiel in trouth,
And bade nae better.
But aiblins, honest Master Heron
Had, at the time, some dainty fair one
To ware this theologic care on, 15
And holy study;
And tired o’ sauls to waste his lear on,
E’en tried the body.
But what d’ye think, my trusty fere,
I’m turned a gauger — Peace be here! 20
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,
Ye’ll now disdain me!
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, 25
Wha, by Castalia’s wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
‘Mang sons o’ men. 30
I hae a wife and twa wee laddies;
They maun hae brose and brats o’ duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is —
I need na vaunt
But I’ll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies, 35
Before they want.
Lord help me thro’ this warld o’ care!
I’m weary sick o’t late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers; 40
But why should ae man better fare,
And a’ men brithers?
Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o’ carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne’er wan 45
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can,
Will whiles do mair.
But to conclude my silly rhyme
(I’m scant o’ verse and scant o’ time), 50
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That’s the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie, 55
And eke the same to honest Lucky;
I wat she is a daintie chuckie,
As e’er tread clay;
And gratefully, my gude auld cockie,
I’m yours for aye.
ROBERT BURNS. 60
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
296.
The Five Carlins: An Election Ballad
An Election Ballad.
Tune— “Chevy Chase.”
THERE was five Carlins in the South,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
Nor only bring them tidings hame, 5
But do their errands there,
And aiblins gowd and honor baith
Might be that laddie’s share.
There was Maggy by the banks o’ Nith,
A dame wi’ pride eneugh; 10
And Marjory o’ the mony Lochs,
A Carlin auld and teugh.
And blinkin Bess of Annandale,
That dwelt near Solway-side;
And whisky Jean, that took her gill, 15
In Galloway sae wide.
And auld black Joan frae Crichton Peel,
O’ gipsy kith an’ kin;
Five wighter Carlins were na found
The South countrie within. 20
To send a lad to London town,
They met upon a day;
And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
This errand fain wad gae.
O mony a knight, and mony a laird, 25
This errand fain wad gae;
But nae ane could their fancy please,
O ne’er a ane but twae.
The first ane was a belted Knight,
Bred of a Border band; 30
And he wad gae to London town,
Might nae man him withstand.
And he wad do their errands weel,
And meikle he wad say;
And ilka ane about the court 35
Wad bid to him gude-day.
The neist cam in a Soger youth,
Who spak w
i’ modest grace,
And he wad gae to London town,
If sae their pleasure was. 40
He wad na hecht them courtly gifts,
Nor meikle speech pretend;
But he wad hecht an honest heart,
Wad ne’er desert his friend.
Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse, 45
At strife thir Carlins fell;
For some had Gentlefolks to please,
And some wad please themsel’.
Then out spak mim-mou’d Meg o’ Nith,
And she spak up wi’ pride, 50
And she wad send the Soger youth,
Whatever might betide.
For the auld Gudeman o’ London court
She didna care a pin;
But she wad send the Soger youth, 55
To greet his eldest son.
Then up sprang Bess o’ Annandale,
And a deadly aith she’s ta’en,
That she wad vote the Border Knight,
Though she should vote her lane. 60
“For far-off fowls hae feathers fair,
And fools o’ change are fain;
But I hae tried the Border Knight,
And I’ll try him yet again.”
Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel, 65
A Carlin stoor and grim.
“The auld Gudeman or young Gudeman,
