Good poems

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70. Epistle to the Rev. John M’Math

© Robert Burns

Pardon this freedom I have ta’en,
An’ if impertinent I’ve been,
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane
Whase heart ne’er wrang’d ye,
But to his utmost would befriend
Ought that belang’d ye.

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The Occasion of the Law Suit. chapter I

© John Arbuthnot

The first letters of congratulation from King William and the
States of Holland upon King Philip's accession to the crown of
Spain.
* The English.
** The Dutch.

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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.

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17. Paraphrase of the First Psalm

© Robert Burns

THE MAN, in life wherever plac’d,
Hath happiness in store,
Who walks not in the wicked’s way,
Nor learns their guilty lore!

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358. A Grace after Dinner

© Robert Burns

O THOU, in whom we live and move—
Who made the sea and shore;
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore;

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24. Song—No 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-belly’d bottle’s the whole of my care.

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Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts I.-II.

© John Logan

Yet lost to fame is virtue's orient reign;
The patriot lived, the hero died in vain,
Dark night descended o'er the human day,
And wiped the glory of the world away:
Whirled round the gulf, the acts of time were tost,
Then in the vast abyss for ever lost.

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45. My Girl she’s Airy: A Fragment

© Robert Burns

MY girl she’s airy, she’s buxom and gay;
Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May;
A touch of her lips it ravishes quite:
She’s always good natur’d, good humour’d, and free;
She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me;
I never am happy when out of her sight.

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Annan Water

© Andrew Lang

"Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.

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306. Election Ballad at close of Contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790

© Robert Burns

Now, for my friends’ and brethren’s sakes,
And for my dear-lov’d Land o’ Cakes,
I pray with holy fire:
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o’ Hell
O’er a’ wad Scotland buy or sell,
To grind them in the mire!

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Seats

© William Barnes

When starbright maïdens be to zit
  In silken frocks, that they do wear,
  The room mid have, as 'tis but fit,
  A han'some seat vor vo'k so feäir;
  But we, in zun-dried vield an' wood,
  Ha' seats as good's a goolden chair.

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391. A Tippling Ballad—When Princes and Prelates, etc.

© Robert Burns

WHEN Princes and Prelates,
And hot-headed zealots,
A’ Europe had set in a low, a low,
The poor man lies down,

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302. Elegy on Willie Nicol’s Mare

© Robert Burns

PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay mare,
As ever trod on airn;
But now she’s floating down the Nith,
And past the mouth o’ Cairn.

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19. A Prayer in the Prospect of Death

© Robert Burns

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

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Lydia Dick

© Eugene Field

When I was a boy at college,
  Filling up with classic knowledge,
  Frequently I wondered why
  Old Professor Demas Bently
  Used to praise so eloquently
  "Opera Horatii."

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75. Halloween

© Robert Burns

UPON that night, when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans 2 dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;

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25. My Father was a Farmer: A Ballad

© Robert Burns

MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O;
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.

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Das Krist Kindel

© James Whitcomb Riley

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my
throne"--
The old split-bottomed rocker--and was musing all alone.

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125. Lines to Mr. John Kennedy

© Robert Burns

FAREWELL, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
And ’mang her favourites admit you:
If e’er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him,
And ony deil that thinks to get you,
Good Lord, deceive him

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The Art Of War. Book VI.

© Henry James Pye

If chiefs like these in combat vers'd have found
Their honors fade as fortune sudden frown'd,
If they have fall'n from fortune's giddy height,
What can ye hope yet novices in fight?—
Scarce wean'd by fierce Bellona's fostering arms,
Young in the field, and new to War's alarms.