Scots, Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled, par Robert Burns

Robert Burns

Scots, Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled

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,

See approach proud Edward’s power—

Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor—knave?

Wha can fill a coward’s grave?

Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s king and law

Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,

Freeman stand or freeman fa’,

Let him follow me!

By oppression’s woes and pains,

By your sons in servile chains,

We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!

Tyrants fall in ev’ry foe!

Liberty’s in ev’ry blow!

Let us do or die!

#ScottishWriters

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Autres oeuvres par Robert Burns...

Birks of Aberfeldie, The

Now simmer blinks on flow’ry braes… And o’er the crystal streamlet pla… Come, let us spend the lightsome d… In the birks of Aberfeldie! Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

From Lines to William Simson

Auld Coila now may fidge fu’ fain… She’s gotten poets o’ her ain— Chiels wha their chanters winna ha… But tune their lays, Till echoes a’ resound again

Complimentary Epigram to Mrs. Riddell

“PRAISE Woman still,” his lords… “Deserv’d or not, no matter?” But thee, whom all my soul adores, Ev’n Flattery cannot flatter: Maria, all my thought and dream,

My Collier Laddie

“Whare live ye, my bonielass? And tell me what they ca’ye;” “My name,” she says, “is mistress… And I follow the Collier laddie.” “My name, she says, &c.

For a' That and a' That

Is there, for honest poverty, That hings his head, an’ a’ that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that,

320. Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart

THOU, who thy honour as thy God… Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nou… To thee this votive offering I im… The tearful tribute of a broken he… The Friend thou valued’st, I, the…

Lines Written on a Bank

WAE worth thy power, thou cursed… Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief… For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my las… For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glas… I see the children of affliction

Airlin's Fine Braes

O I’ve walked o’er yon countries… Among Airlin’s braw lasses I’ve h… Comin’ hame in the mornins, fin I… Fin I wis a plooboy on Airlin’s f… O the first thing I did, fin I ga…

148. to Miss Logan, With Beattie’s Poems

AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, And you, tho’ scarce in maiden pri… Are so much nearer Heaven. No gifts have I from Indian coast…

The Rigs O' Barley

It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

Epistle to John Rankine

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran… The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drin… There’s mony godly folks are think… Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sink…

Nature’s Law: a Poem

LET other heroes boast their scar… The marks of sturt and strife: And other poets sing of wars, The plagues of human life: Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and g…

Rigs O' Barley, The

It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light… I held away to Annie: The time flew by wi’ tentless heed

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn

THE WIND blew hollow frae the h… By fits the sun’s departing beam Look’d on the fading yellow woods, That wav’d o’er Lugar’s winding s… Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

Robert Burns