Robert Burns Ballad Poems

There was three kings unto the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
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WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
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WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood
An' did our hellim thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:
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THERE was once a day, but old Time wasythen young,
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
From some of your northern deities sprung,
(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?)
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MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O;
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
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THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk or market to be seen;
When a' our fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
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I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North.
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
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WHEN Princes and Prelates,
And hot-headed zealots,
A' Europe had set in a low, a low,
The poor man lies down,
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O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
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FINTRY, my stay in wordly strife,
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life,
Are ye as idle's I am?
Come then, wi' uncouth kintra fleg,
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,
And ye shall see me try him.
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WHOM will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
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WHA will buy my troggin, fine election ware,
Broken trade o' Broughton, a' in high repair?
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DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw
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ORTHODOX! orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
A heretic blast has been blown in the West,
That what is no sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
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FY, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
For Murray's light horse are to muster,
And O how the heroes will swear!
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THERE was five Carlins in the South,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
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'TWAS in the seventeen hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
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THE LADDIES by the banks o' Nith
Wad trust his Grace 1 wi a', Jamie;
But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the King—
Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie.
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