How long and dreary is the night When I am frae my dearie! I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,...
I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam; List'ning to the wild birds singing, By a falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and daring;...
This wot ye all whom it concerns, I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprachled up the brae, I dinner'd wi' a Lord. ...
The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, Give me with gay Folly to live; I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give.
O how shall I, unskilfu', try The poet's occupation, The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whispers inspiration? Even they maun dare an effort mair,...
When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spy'd a man whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care;...
When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary, O! Down by the burn, where scented birks[1]...
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains;...
The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave; Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. ...