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O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns
Age: 37 †
Born: 1759
Born: January 25
Died: 1796
Died: July 21
Farmer
Musicologist
Poet
Songwriter
Writer
Robbie Burns
Rabbie Burns
Scotland's favourite son
Ploughman Poet
Robden of Solway Firth
Bard of Ayrshire
The Bard
Robert Burns
Road
Speech
Along
Galling
Art
Wretches
Life
Load
Weary
Rough
Thou

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Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din For me, an aim I never fash I rhyme for fun.
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Such is the fate of simple Bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd
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The voice of Nature loudly cries,And many a message from the skies,That something in us never dies.
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An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended!
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Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
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What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools If honest nature made you fools.
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God help the teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel.
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An honest man here lies at rest, the friend of man the friend of truth the friend of age and guide of youth. Few hearts like his with virtue warmed, few heads with knowledge so informed. If there's another world, he lives in bliss. If there is none, he made the best of this.
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But deep this truth impressed my mind — Thro' all his works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God.
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Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
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Once upon a Lammas Night When corn rigs are bonny, Beneath the Moon's unclouded light, I held awhile to Annie... The time went by with careless heed Between the late and early, With small persuasion she agreed To see me through the barley... Corn rigs and barley rigs, Corn rigs are bonny! I'll not forget that happy night Among the rigs with Annie!
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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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Anticipation forward points the view.
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The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
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Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now 's the day and now 's the hour See the front o' battle lour.
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The wide world is all before us - but a world without a friend.
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