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My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

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
Deer
Chasing
Heart
Highlands
Scottish

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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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My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.
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And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.
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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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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays.
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But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. Had we never lou'd sae kindly, Had we never lou'd sae blindly, Never met - or never parted - We had ne'er been broken hearted
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Mankind is an unco squad And muckle he may grieve thee.
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Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks To murder men and gie God thanks Desist for shame, proceed no further God won't accept your thanks for murder.
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Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme / My barmie noddle's working prime.
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On Earth, Discord! A gloomy Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteen thousandth part of the tithe of mankind! And below, an inescapable & inexorable Hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of Mortals!
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Nae man can tether time or tide The hour approachesTam maun ride That hour, o'night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hourTam mounts his beast in.
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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O.
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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die.
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The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.
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Humid seal of soft affections, Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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See Social-life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown Debauchery and Drinking
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O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
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