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Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Robert Burns. (1759–1796). Poems and Songs. The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Index to First Lines

Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace
Adown winding Nith I did wander
Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Afar the illustrious Exile roams
Again rejoicing Nature sees
Again the silent wheels of time
A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Ah, Chloris, since it may not be
Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
All hail! inexorable lord!
All villain as I am—a damnèd wretch
Altho’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller
Altho’ my back be at the wa’
Altho’ my bed were in yon muir
Altho’ thou maun never be mine
Amang the trees, where humming bees
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods
Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
An honest man here lies at rest
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire
An somebody were come again
A rose-bud by my early walk
As cauld a wind as ever blew
As down the burn they took their way
As father Adam first was fool’d
As I cam by Crochallan
As I gaed down the water-side
As I gaed up by yon gate-end
As I stood by yon roofless tower
As I stood by yon roofless tower
As I was a-wand’ring ae morning in spring
As I was walking up the street
Ask why God made the gem so small?
A slave to Love’s unbounded sway
As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegither
As on the banks o’ wandering Nith
As Tam the chapman on a day
At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer
A’ the lads o’ Thorniebank
Auld chuckie Reekie’s sair distrest
Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner
Awa’ wi’ your witchcraft o’ Beauty’s alarms
A’ ye wha live by sowps o’ drink
Beauteous Rosebud, young and gay
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows
Behold, my love, how green the groves
Behold the hour, the boat, arrive!
Behold the hour, the boat arrive
Below thir stanes lie Jamie’s banes
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp
Blest be M’Murdo to his latest day!
Blythe hae I been on yon hill
Braw, braw lads on Yarrow-braes
But lately seen in gladsome green
But warily tent when ye come to court me
By Allan stream I chanc’d to rove
By all I lov’d, neglected and forgot
By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty
By Oughtertyre grows the aik
By yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day
Can I cease to care?
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west
Cauld is the e’enin blast
Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing
Clarinda, mistres of my soul
Come, bumpers high, express your joy
Come, let me take thee to my breast
Contented wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair
Curs’d be the man, the poorest wretch in life
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased
Daughter of Chaos’ doting years
Dear ———, I’ll gie ye some advice
Dear Myra, the captive ribband’s mine
Dear Sir, at ony time or tide
Dear Smith, the slee’st, pawkie thief
Deluded swain, the pleasure
Dire was the hate at old Harlaw
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Dost thou not rise, indignant shade
Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo
Dweller in yon dungeon dark
Earth’d up, here lies an imp o’ hell
Edina! Scotia’s darling seat!
Expect na, sir, in this narration
Fair Empress of the Poet’s soul
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face
Fair maid, you need not take the hint
Fair the face of orient day
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame
Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you
Farewell, old Scotia’s bleak domains
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Farewell, thou stream that winding flows
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped
Fill me with the rosy wine
Fintry, my stay in wordly strife
First when Maggie was my care
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes
For lords or kings I dinna mourn
Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near
For thee is laughing Nature gay
Frae the friends and land I love
Friday first’s the day appointed
Friend of the Poet, tried and leal
From thee, Eliza, I must go
From the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloris requested
From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells
Full well thou know’st I love thee dear
Fy, let us a’ to Kirkcudbright
Gane is the day, and mirk’s the night
Gat ye me, O gat ye me
Go, fetch to me a pint o’ wine
Gracie, thou art a man of worth
Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live
Gude pity me, because I’m little!
Guid-mornin’ to our Majesty!
Guid speed and furder to you, Johnie
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte
Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv’d!
Hail, thairm-inspirin’, rattlin’ Willie!
Hark the mavis’ e’ening sang
Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?
Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Health to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief!
Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots
He clenched his pamphlet in his fist
Hee balou, my sweet wee Donald
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie
Here Brewer Gabriel’s fire’s extinct
Here cursing, swearing Burton lies
Here Holy Willie’s sair worn clay
Here is the glen, and here the bower
Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm’d
Here lies Boghead amang the dead
Here lies John Bushby—honest man
Here lies Johnie Pigeon
Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect
Here lie Willie Michie’s banes
Here’s a bottle and an honest friend!
Here’s a health to them that’s awa
Here Souter Hood in death does sleep
Here’s to thy health, my bonie lass
Here Stuarts once in glory reigned
Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives
Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing
He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead
Hey, the dusty Miller
His face with smile eternal drest
Honest Will to Heaven’s away
How can my poor heart be glad
How cold is that bosom which folly once fired
How cruel are the parents
How daur ye ca’ me “Howlet-face”?
How lang and dreary is the night
How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee nam’d?
How long and dreary is the night
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon
How wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite
Humid seal of soft affections
“Husband, husband, cease your strife
I am a keeper of the law
I am my mammny’s ae bairn
I bought my wife a stane o’ lint
I call no Goddess to inspire my strains
I coft a stane o’ haslock woo’
I do confess thou art sae fair
I dream’d I lay where flowers were springing
I fee’d a man at Michaelmas
If thou should ask my love
If ye gae up to yon hill-tap
If you rattle along like your Mistress’ tongue
I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen
I gaed up to Dunse
I gat your letter, winsome Willie
I had sax owsen in a pleugh
I hae a wife of my ain
I hae been at Crookieden
I hold it, sir, my bounden duty
I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend
Ilk care and fear, when thou art near
Ill-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson!
I mind it weel in early date
I’m now arrived—thanks to the gods!
I’m three times doubly o’er your debtor
I murder hate by flood or field
In comin by the brig o’ Dye
I never saw a fairer
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb’rous art
In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles
In Politics if thou would’st mix
In se’enteen hunder’n forty-nine
In simmer, when the hay was mawn
Instead of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast
In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men
In this strange land, this uncouth clime
In wood and wild, ye warbling throng
I see a form, I see a face
I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth
Is there a whim-inspirèd fool
Is there for honest Poverty
Is this thy plighted, fond regard
Ithers seek they ken na what
It is na, Jean, thy bonie face
It was a’ for our rightfu’ King
It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral
It was the charming month of May
It was upon a Lammas night
Jockey’s taen the parting kiss
John Anderson, my jo, John
Kemble, thou cur’st my unbelief
Ken ye aught o’ Captain Grose?
Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an’ claw
Kind Sir, I’ve read your paper through
Know thou, O stranger to the fame
Lament him, Mauchline husbands a’
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose
Last May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen
Late crippl’d of an arm, and now a leg
Let not Woman e’er complain
Let other heroes boast their scars
Let other poets raise a fracas
Life ne’er exulted in so rich a prize
Light lay the earth on Billy’s breast
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks
Long life, my Lord, an’ health be yours
Lord, to account who dares thee call
Lord, we thank, and thee adore
Loud blaw the frosty breezes
Louis, what reck I by thee
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion
Maxwell, if merit here you crave
Musing on the roaring ocean
My blessings on ye, honest wife!
My blessin’s upon thy sweet wee lippie!
My curse upon your venom’d stang
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O
My girl she’s airy, she’s buxom and gay
My godlike friend—nay, do not stare
My Harry was a gallant gay
My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie
My heart is sair—I dare na tell
My heart is wae, and unco wae
My heart was ance as blithe and free
My honor’d Colonel, deep I feel
My lord a-hunting he is gone
My lord, I know your noble ear
My lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
My love, she’s but a lassie yet
My Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form
My Sandy gied to me a ring
Nae gentle dames, tho’ e’er sae fair
Nae heathen name shall I prefix
No churchman am I for to rail and to write
No cold approach, no altered mien
No more of your guests, be they titled or not
No more, ye warblers of the wood! no more
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
No Spartan tube, no Attic shell
Now haply down yon gay green shaw
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays
Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse
Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
Now Robin lies in his last lair
Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowers
Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes
Now spring has clad the grove in green
Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns
O a’ ye pious godly flocks
O bonie was yon rosy brier
O cam ye here the fight to shun
O could I give thee India’s wealth
O Death, had’st thou but spar’d his life
O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw
Of Lordly acquaintance you boast
O Gowdie, terror o’ the whigs
O had each Scot of ancient times
O had the malt thy strength of mind
Oh I am come to the low Countrie
Oh, open the door, some pity to shew
O how can I be blythe and glad
O how shall I, unskilfu’, try
O Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie
O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten
O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten
O lady Mary Ann looks o’er the Castle wa’
O lassie, are ye sleepin yet
Old Winter, with his frosty beard
O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles
O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
O Lord, when hunger pinches sore
O luve will venture in where it daur na weel be seen
O Mary, at thy window be
O may, thy morn was ne’er so sweet
O meikle thinks my luve o’ my beauty
O merry hae I been teethin’ a heckle
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day
Once fondly lov’d, and still remember’d dear
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells
One night as I did wander
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell
On peace an’ rest my mind was bent
O once I lov’d a bonie lass
O Philly, happy be that day
O poortith cauld, and restless love
Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d with care
O raging Fortune’s withering blast
O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine
Orthodox! orthodox, who believe in John Knox
O sad and heavy, should I part
O saw ye bonie Lesley
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?
O saw ye my Dear, my Philly?
O sing a new song to the Lord
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay
O steer her up, an’ haud her gaun
O that I had ne’er been married
O Thou dread Power, who reign’st above
O Thou Great Being! what Thou art
O thou, in whom we live and move
O thou pale orb that silent shines
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause
O Thou! whatever title suit thee
O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell
O thou who kindly dost provide
O Thou whom Poetry abhors
Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair
Out over the Forth, I look to the North
O wat ye wha that lo’es me
O, were I on Parnassus hill
O were my love yon Lilac fair
O wert thou in the cauld blast
O wha my babie-clouts will buy?
O wha will to Saint Stephen’s House
O when she cam’ ben she bobbed fu’ law
O why the deuce should I repine
O Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut
O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel’
O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains
Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare
“Praise Woman still,” his lordship roars
Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name
Raving winds around her blowing
Revered defender of beauteous Stuart
Right, sir! your text I’ll prove it true
Rusticity’s ungainly form
Sad thy tale, thou idle page
Sae flaxen were her ringlets
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled
Searching auld wives’ barrels
Sensibility, how charming
She’s fair and fause that causes my smart
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came
Sic a reptile was Wat, sic a miscreant slave
Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough
Sir, as your mandate did request
Sir, o’er a gill I gat your card
Sleep’st thou, or wak’st thou, fairest creature?
Some books are lies frae end to end
Stay my charmer, can you leave me?
Still anxious to secure your partial favour
Stop, passenger! my story’s brief
“Stop thief!” dame Nature call’d to Death
Strait is the spot and green the sod
Streams that glide in orient plains
Sweet are the banks—the banks o’ Doon
Sweet closes the ev’ning on Craigieburn Wood
Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn
Sweet flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love
Sweet naïveté of feature
That there is a falsehood in his looks
The bairns gat out wi’ an unco shout
The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw
The Catrine woods were yellow seen
The Cooper o’ Cuddy came here awa
The day returns, my bosom burns
The deil cam fiddlin’ thro’ the town
The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying
The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa’s
The friend whom, wild from Wisdom’s way
The gloomy night is gath’ring fast
The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn
Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon
The King’s most humble servant, I
The Laddies by the banks o’ Nith
The lamp of day, with-ill presaging glare
The last time I came o’er the moor
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill
The lovely lass o’ Inverness
The man, in life wherever plac’d
The night was still, and o’er the hill
The noble Maxwells and their powers
The poor man weeps—here Gavin sleeps
There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes
There’s Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen
There’s a youth in this city, it were a great pity
There’s Death in the cup, so beware!
There’s nane sall ken, there’s nane can guess
There’s news, lassies, news
There’s nought but care on ev’ry han’
There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass
There was a lad was born in Kyle
There was a lass, and she was fair
There was a lass, they ca’d her Meg
There was a wife wonn’d in Cockpen
There was five Carlins in the South
There was once a day, but old Time wasythen young
There was three kings into the east
The Robin to the Wren’s nest
The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough
The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning
The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing
The Solemn League and Covenant
The sun had clos’d the winter day
The sun he is sunk in the west
The Thames flows proudly to the sea
The wind blew hollow frae the hills
The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last
The wintry west extends his blast
They snool me sair, and haud me down
Thickest night, o’erhang my dwelling!
Thine am I, my faithful Fair
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair
This day, Time winds th’ exhausted chain
This wot ye all whom it concerns
Tho’ cruel fate should bid us part
Thou flatt’ring mark of friendship kind
Though fickle Fortune has deceived me
Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie
Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme
Thou ling’ring star, with lessening ray
Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign
Thou of an independent mind
Thou’s welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me
Thou whom chance may hither lead
Thou whom chance may hither lead
Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever’st
Tho’ women’s minds, like winter winds
Through and through th’ inspir’d leaves
’Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair Friend
To Riddell, much lamented man
To you, sir, this summons I’ve sent
True hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow
Turn again, thou fair Eliza!
’Twas even—the dewy fields were green
’Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s isle
’Twas in the seventeen hunder year
’Twas na her bonie blue e’e was my ruin
’Twas on a Monday morning
Upon a simmer Sunday morn
Upon that night, when fairies light
Up wi’ the carls o’ Dysart
Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in my e’e
Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
We cam na here to view your warks
Wee, modest crimson-tippèd flow’r
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet
We grant they’re thine, those beauties all
Wha, in a brulyie, will
Wha is that at my bower-door?
Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass
Whare live ye, my bonie lass?
What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch
What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie
What dost thou in that mansion fair?
What needs this din about the town o’ Lon’on
What will I do gin my Hoggie die?
Wha will buy my troggin, fine election ware
When biting Boreas, fell and dour
When, by a generous Public’s kind acclaim
When chapman billies leave the street
When chill November’s surly blast
When dear Clarinda, matchless fair
When Death’s dark stream I ferry o’er
When first I came to Stewart Kyle
When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town
When Guilford good our pilot stood
When Januar’ wind was blawing cauld
When Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart
When lyart leaves bestrow the yird
When Morine, deceas’d, to the Devil went down
When Nature her great master-piece design’d
When o’er the hill the eastern star
When Princes and Prelates
When rosy May comes in wi’ flowers
When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle
When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn
Where are the joys I have met in the morning
Where, braving angry winter’s storms
Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea
Where hae ye been sae braw, lad?
While at the stook the shearers cow’r
While briers an’ woodbines budding green
While Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty things
While larks, with little wing
While new-ca’d kye rowte at the stake
While virgin Spring by Eden’s flood
While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw
Whoe’er he be that sojourns here
Whoe’er thou art, O reader, know
Whom will you send to London town
Whose is that noble, dauntless brow?
Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
Why, why tell thy lover
Why, ye tenants of the lake
Wi’ braw new branks in mickle pride
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed
Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary
Wilt thou be my Dearie?
Wishfully I look and languish
With Esop’s lion, Burns says: Sore I feel
With Pegasus upon a day
With secret throes I marked that earth
Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon
Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon
Ye gallants bright, I rede you right
Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks?
Ye Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear
Ye maggots, feed on Nicol’s brain
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie
Yestreen I had a pint o’ wine
Yestreen I met you on the moor
Ye true “Loyal Natives” attend to my song
Yon wandering rill that marks the hill
Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide
Young Jamie, pride of a’ the plain
Young Jockie was the blythest lad
Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass
Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt
You’re welcome to Despots, Dumourier
Your friendship much can make me blest
Your News and Review, sir.
Yours this moment I unseal


Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD