My Peggy’s Charms by Robert Burns

My Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form,
The frost of hermit Age might warm;
My Peggy’s worth, my Peggy’s mind,
Might charm the first of human kind. 

I love my Peggy’s angel air,
Her face so truly heavenly fair,
Her native grace, so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy’s heart. 

The lily’s hue, the rose’s dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway?
Who but knows they all decay?

The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose nobly dear
The gentle look that rage disarms –
These are all immortal charms.

 

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Fickle Fortune by Robert Burns

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me
…(She promis’d fair and perform’d but ill),
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav’d me,
…Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. 

I’ll act with prudence as far’s I’m able,
…But if success I must never find,
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
…I’ll meet thee with an undaunted mind.

 

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Epitaph On Holy Willie by Robert Burns

(I will attempt to substitute some words
where I can to make it more readable,
but some words I cannot “translate”.)

Here Holy Willie’s sore worn clay
…Takes up its last abode;
His soul has ta’en some other way,
…I fear, the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure’s a gun,
…Poor, silly body, see him;
No wonder he’s as black’s the grun,
…Observe what’s standing with him.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
…Has got him there before you;
But hold your nine-tail cat a wee,
…Till once you’ve heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,
…For pity you have none;
Justice, alas! has gi’en him o’er,
…And mercy’s day is gone.

But hear me, Sir, devil as you are,
…Look something to your credit;
A coof like him would stain your name,
…If it were known you did it.

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Highland Mary by Robert Burns

Ye banks and braes, and streams around
…The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods and fair your flowers,
…Your waters never drumlie!
There Summer first unfald her robes,
…And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel,
…O’ my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay, green birk,
…How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
…I clasped her to my bosom!
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.

Wi’ monie a vow and locked embrace
…Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
…We tore oursels asunder.
But O, fell Death’s untimely frost,
…That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay,
…That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
…I aft hae kissed sae fondly:
And closed for ay, the sparkling glance
…That dwalt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
…That heart that lo’ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom’s core
…Shall live my Highland Mary.

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Mary Morison by Robert Burns

O Mary, at thy window be,
…It is the wish’d, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
…That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
…A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
…The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
…The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
…I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
…And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sigh’d, and said amang them a’,
…“Ye are na Mary Morison.”

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
…Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
…Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
…At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
…The thought o’ Mary Morison.

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For A’ That And A’ That by Robert Burns

Is there, for honest poverty,
…That hangs his head, and a’ that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
…We dare be poor for a’ that!
……For a’ that, and a’ that,
………Our toils obscure, and a’ that,
……The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
………The man’s the gowd for a’ that. 

What though on hamely fare we dine,
…Wear hoddin gray, and a’ that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
…A man’s a man for a’ that:
……For a’ that, and a’ that,
………Their tinsel show, and a’ that;
……The honest man, though e’er sae poor,
………Is king o’ men for a’ that. 

Ye see you birkie, ca’d a lord,
…Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
…He’s but a coof for a’ that:
……For a’ that, and a’ that:
………His riband, star, and a’ that,
……The man of independent mind,
………He looks and laughs at a’ that. 

A prince can make a belted knight,
…A marquis, duke, and a’ that;
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
…Gaid faith, he maunna fa’ that!
……For a’ that, and a’ that,
………Their dignities and a’ that,
……The pith o’ sense and pride o’ worth,
………Are higher ranks 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,
…May bear the gree, and a’ that.
……For a’ that, and a’ that,
………It’s comin’ yet for a’ that,
……That man to man, the world o’er,
………Shall brothers be for a’ that.

 

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Bannockburn by Robert Burns

*Read “Wha” as “Who”
*Read “wham” as “whom”
*”lour” is “lower”, threaten
*”sae” is “so”

———————————
……….Bannockburn

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! 

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
…..Let him turn and flee! 

Wha, for Scotland’s King and Law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Free-man’s stand, or Free-man fa’.
…..Let him follow me! 

By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
…..But they shall be free! 

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow! –
…..Let us do or die!

 

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A Farewell by Robert Burns

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Farewell

Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
An’ fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go
A service to my bonnie lassie:
The boat rocks at the pier of Leith,
Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it’s not the roar o’ sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o’ war that’s heard afar –
It’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

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My Heart’s In The Highlands by Robert Burns

(Photo credit: twicepix)

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.
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.

Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below;
Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud pouring floods.
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
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.

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John Anderson by Robert Burns

       John Anderson

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We’ve had wi’ ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we’ll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

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