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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!

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
Peace
Sent
Warmest
Wish
Native
Heav
May
Soil
Rustic
Country
Content
Blest
Long
Son
Hardy
Dear
Scotland
Sweet
Sons
Health
Toil

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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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Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.
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Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.
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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
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Mankind is a science that defies definitions.
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O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
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Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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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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There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.
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Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
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I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for nae-body If nae-body cares for me, I'll care for nae-body.
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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
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Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire.
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Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!
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Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?
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Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
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Again rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in the morning dews.
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