Faith poems
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107. Versified Reply to an Invitation
© Robert Burns
SIR,Yours this moment I unseal,
And faith Im gay and hearty!
To tell the truth and shame the deil,
I am as fou as Bartie:
99. To a Louse
© Robert Burns
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An foolish notion:
What airs in dress an gait wad leae us,
An evn devotion!
Book Fifth-Books
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
97. To John Kennedy, Dumfries House
© Robert Burns
But if, as Im informèd weel,
Ye hate as ills the very deil
The flinty heart that canna feel
Come, sir, heres to you!
Hae, theres my haun, I wiss you weel,
An gude be wi you.ROBT. BURNESS.MOSSGIEL, 3rd March, 1786.
337. SongFragmentAltho he has left me
© Robert Burns
ALTHO he has left me for greed o the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a the lade o my sorrow,
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
The Age Of The Antonines
© Herman Melville
While faith forecasts millennial years
Spite Europe's embattled lines,
91. The Vision
© Robert Burns
And wear thou thisshe solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polishd leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away. [To Mrs. Stewart of Stair Burns presented a manuscript copy of the Vision. That copy embraces about twenty stanzas at the end of Duan First, which he cancelled when he came to print the price in his Kilmarnock volume. Seven of these he restored in printing his second edition, as noted on p. 174. The following are the verses which he left unpublished.]
533. SongForlorn, my love, no comfort here
© Robert Burns
FORLORN, my Love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe,
At which I most repine, Love.
52. Epitaph on John Rankine
© Robert Burns
AE day, as Death, that gruesome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad
Our Martrys
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I AM sitting alone and weary,
By the hearth of my darkened room,
And the low wind's miserere,
Makes sadder the midnight gloom.
Jacqueline
© Samuel Rogers
'Twas Autumn; thro' Provence had ceased
The vintage, and the vintage-feast.
The sun had set behind the hill,
The moon was up, and all was still,
62. Epistle to William Simson
© Robert Burns
Sae, ye observe that a this clatter
Is naething but a moonshine matter;
But tho dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulyie,
I hope we bardies ken some better
Than mind sic brulyie.
280. The Kirk of Scotlands Alarm: A Ballad
© Robert Burns
ORTHODOX! orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
A heretic blast has been blown in the West,
That what is no sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
87. The Twa Dogs
© Robert Burns
Note 1. Luath was Burns own dog. [back]
Note 2. Cuchullins dog in Ossians Fingal.R. B. [back]
400. SongLovely young Jessie
© Robert Burns
TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr;
But by the sweet side o the Niths winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
Waggon Hill
© Sir Henry Newbolt
Drake in the North Sea grimly prowling,
Treading his dear _Revenge's_ deck,
The Progress of Taste, or the Fate of Delicacy
© William Shenstone
A POEM ON THE TEMPER AND STUDIES OF THE AUTHOR; AND HOW GREAT A MISFORTUNE IT IS FOR A MAN OF SMALL ESTATE TO HAVE MUCH TASTE.
Part first.
42. A Poets Welcome to his Love-Begotten Daughter
© Robert Burns
For if thou be what I wad hae thee,
And tak the counsel I shall gie thee,
Ill never rue my trouble wi thee,
The cost nor shame ot,
But be a loving father to thee,
And brag the name ot.
80. The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata
© Robert Burns
AirTuneSoldiers Joy.I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.
24. SongNo Churchman am I
© Robert Burns
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-bellyd bottles the whole of my care.
