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Robert Burns (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) was a poet and pioneer of the Romantic movement and after his death became an important source of inspiration to the founders of both liberalism and socialism. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland.
Born: January 25th, 1759
Died: July 21st, 1796
Quotes: 100 sourced quotes total (includes 1 disputed)
|Words (count)||20||4 - 157|
|Search Results||64||10 - 300|
From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God."
For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne!
"Weel done, Cutty Sark!"
We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Nae man can tether time or tide.
Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow— Let us do or die!
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!
If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this.
There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.
Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair.
Suspense is worse than disappointment.
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.
He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God" he says, with solemn air.
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie.
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus.
I waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of concealing: But, och! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling!
But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met—or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Some books are lies frae end to end.
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name.
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; A brother to relieve,—how exquisite the bliss!
What 's done we partly may compute, But know not what 's resisted.
O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God.
The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious.
The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley; And leave us naught but grief and pain For promised joy.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to Victorie! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lour! See approach proud Edward's power— Chains and slaverie!
While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire.
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither— They had been fou for weeks thegither.
John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo!
Nature's law, That man was made to mourn.
An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange For Deity offended.
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne?
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise. My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surprised them all.
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon.
Misled by fancy's meteor ray, By passion driven; But yet the light that led astray Was light from heaven.
The golden Hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my Dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O: Her prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses, O.
But pleasures are like poppies spread— You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river— A moment white—then melts forever.
It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause And bide by the buff and the blue.
I was na fou, but just had plenty.
When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare.
And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
Beauty's of a fading nature Has a season and is gone!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae farewell, alas, forever!
It's hardly in a body's pow'r, To keep, at times, frae being sour.
Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain.
In durance vile here must I wake and weep, And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.
God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.
The voice of Nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies, That something in us never dies.
Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human.
Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — A waefu' day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three.
The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honour grip, Let that aye be your border.
O Life! how pleasant is thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like schoolboys at th' expected warning, To joy and play.
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane.
Stern Ruin's plowshare drives elate, Full on thy bloom.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union.
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
An' there began a lang digression About the lords o' the creation.
And may you better reck the rede, Than ever did the adviser!
It was a' for our rightfu' King We left fair Scotland's strand.
This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, To run the twelvemonth's length again.
O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wished, the trysted hour.
As Tammie glow'red, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad: Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad.
Green grow the rashes, O; Green grow the rashes, O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend Are spent among the lasses, O.
To see her is to love her, And love but her forever; For Nature made her what she is, And never made anither!
She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a lo'esome wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
Some wee short hours ayont the twal.
If naebody care for me, I'll care for naebody.
His lockèd, lettered, braw brass collar Showed him the gentleman an' scholar.
'T is sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside,—Jessy!
Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn. Man was made to Mourn.
On ev'ry hand it will allowed be, He's just—nae better than he should be.
Ah, Tam! Ah! Tam! Thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast you like a herrin!
The social, friendly, honest man, Whate'er he be, 'Tis he fulfills great Nature's plan, And none but he!
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. For a' that an a' that.
A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; But it's innocence and modesty that polished the dart.
To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife,— That is the true pathos and sublime Of human life.
If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it; A chield's aman you takin' notes, And faith he'll prent it.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!
There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In every hour that passes, O: What signifies the life o' man, An' then she made the lasses, O.
Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June. O, my Luve is like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune.
He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish shore; And gae his bridle reins a shake, With adieu forevermore, My dear— And adieu forevermore!
For a' that, and a' that An' twice as muckle 's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that.
Some hae meat and cann eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?
When Nature her great masterpiece designed, And framed her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye intent on all the wondrous plan, She formed of various stuff the various Man.
Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem.
O, wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, An' foolish notion. What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us An' ev'n Devotion
Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care! Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn! Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed never to return.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.