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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 45m

scorchin' heat, Wad melt the hardest whunstane! The half asleep start up wi' fear, An' think they hear it roarin', When presently it does appear,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 6h

dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow[13] Wi' fright that day. A vast, unbottom'd boundless pit, Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, Wha's ragin' flame, an'

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 12h

the shouts: Black Russell is na' sparin': His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, Divide the joints and marrow; His talk o' Hell, where devils

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 13h

i' the neuk, An' formin' assignations To meet some day. But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairin', An' echoes back return

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 19h

round the table, weel content, An' steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, They're making observations; While some are cozie

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 01/10/2026

potion, It never fails, on drinking deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body, Sit

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

mair Than either school or college: It kindles wit, it waukens lair, It pangs us fou' o' knowledge, Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, Or any stronger

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

lang, Wi' logic, an' wi' scripture, They raise a din, that, in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gies us

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

fills, Wi' yill-caup commentators: Here's crying out for bakes and gills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an'

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

manse, So, cannily he hums them; Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him At times that day. Now but an' ben, the Change-house

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

neist the guard relieves, An' orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables: But faith! the birkie wants a

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

o' God, An' meek an' mim has view'd it, While Common-Sense has ta'en the road, An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,[12] Fast, fast, that day. Wee Miller,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

day. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poison'd nostrum; For Peebles, frae the water-fit, Ascends the holy rostrum: See, up he's got the word

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

out o' season. Like Socrates or Antonine, Or some auld pagan heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne'er a word o' faith in That's right that

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

the jars an' barrels A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine, Of moral pow'rs and reason? His English style, an' gestures fine, Are a' clean

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

real judges rise, They canna sit for anger. Smith opens out his cauld harangues, On practice and on morals; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, To gie

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters, On sic a day. But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice: There's peace an' rest nae langer: For a' the

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

calm, now wild in wrath, He's stampin an' he's jumpin'! His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, His eldritch squeel and gestures, Oh, how they fire

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

Moodie's face, To's ain het hame had sent him Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi' ratlin' an' wi' thumpin'! Now meekly

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

For Moodie speeds the holy door, Wi' tidings o' damnation. Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 'Mang sons o' God present him, The vera sight o'

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

compose him; Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, An's loof upon her bosom, Unkenn'd that day. Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation;

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

wonder that it pride him! Wha's ain dear lass that he likes best, Comes clinkin' down beside him; Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, He sweetly does

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; On that a set o' chaps at watch, Thrang winkin' on the lasses To chairs that day. O happy is that man an' blest! Nae

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

thinkin' on their sins, An' some upo' their claes; Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, Anither sighs an' prays: On this hand sits a chosen swatch,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

titlin' jades, Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, An' there's a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock For fun this day. Here some are

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

shed to fend the show'rs, An' screen our countra gentry, There, racer Jess, and twa-three wh-res, Are blinkin' at the entry. Here sits a raw of

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

show, On ev'ry side they're gath'rin', Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy blethrin' Right loud that day. Here stands a

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

by the plate we set our nose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, An' we maun draw our tippence. Then in we go to see the

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

skelpin barefit, thrang, In silks an' scarlets glitter; Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, An' farls bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

farmers gash, in ridin' graith Gaed hoddin by their cottars; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, Are springin' o'er the gutters. The lasses,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time An' soon I made me ready; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' monie a wearie body, In droves that day. Here

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

them this day." Quoth I, "With a' my heart I'll do't; I'll get my Sunday's sark on, An' meet you on the holy spot; Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!"

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

that's Hypocrisy. I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair, To spend an hour in daffin: Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, We will get famous laughin' At

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

the feck, Of a' the ten commands A screed some day. "My name is Fun--your cronie dear, The nearest friend ye hae; An' this is Superstition here, An'

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

sure I've seen that bonnie face, But yet I canna name ye." Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak, An' taks me by the hands, "Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, I think ye seem to ken me; I'm

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

feature, form, an' claes; Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, An' sour as ony slaes: The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, As light as ony lambie,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

But ane wi' lyart lining; The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, In

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, To see a scene sae gay, Three hizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpin up the way; Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

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Reposted by Robert Burns Poetry Bot

Association for Scottish Literature @asls.org.uk · 23/09/2026

“John Barleycorn” is believed to be one of Robert Burns’s earliest productions, based on its appearance in the poet’s First Commonplace Book. You can listen to “John Barleycorn” on the @glasgowburns.bsky.social website, sung by Bill Adair #folksong #ballad #C18 burnsc21.glasgow.ac.uk/john-barleyc...

burnsc21.glasgow.ac.uk

John Barleycorn – Original Arrangement

Performed by Bill Adair *This recording has been commissioned to compliment the forthcoming first volume of the new OUP edition of ‘The Works of Robert Burns’: ‘Robert Burns: Commonplace Books, Tou…

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Reposted by Robert Burns Poetry Bot

Association for Scottish Literature @asls.org.uk · 23/09/2026

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, ’Twill make your courage rise… —Robert Burns, “John Barleycorn: A Ballad”. Based on “the old song that goes by this name”, it celebrates the harvest – & the whisky from the grain #WyrdWednesday #poem #C18

John Barleycorn: A Ballad
Tune: Lull Me Beyond Thee
First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1787.
(This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name. R.B.)

There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough’d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris’d them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel arm’d wi’ pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter’d mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show’d he began to fail.

His colour sicken’d more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

They’ve taen a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then ty’d him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell’d him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn’d him o’er and o’er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appear’d,
They toss’d him to and fro.

They wasted, o’er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;
But a Miller us’d him worst of all,
For he crush’d him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart’s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
’Twill make your courage rise.

’Twill make a man forget his woe;
’Twill heighten all his joy;
’Twill make the widow’s heart to sing,
Tho’ the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland.

Composition is generally dated to around 1785, although Kinsley believes it was written earlier. In the FCB Burns writes, ‘John Barleycorn.—A Song, to its own Tune. I once heard the old song that goes by this name, sung; and being very fond of it, and remembering only two or three verses of it viz the lst, 2nd and 3rd, with some scraps which I have interwoven here and there in the following piece’, June 1785. Kinsley probably over-stresses the importance of the myth of the Corn Spirit still prevalent in the 18th century as the ‘kernel’ theme of this song, the notion that the ‘old man of vegitation’ is driven out of the corn at threshing time to inhabit the fields, then returns to be the spirit of the next crop (Vol. III, p. 1017). Low is probably right in assuming Burns had read or heard the chapbook song of 1781, the allegory of drink titled The Whole Trial and Indictment of Sir John Barleycorn, Knt., A Person of Noble Birth and Extraction... Being Accused of Several Misdemeanours.. killing some, wounding others, and bringing thousands to Beggary (p. 82).

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

owre Galston muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin'; The hares were hirplin down the furs, The lav'rocks they were chantin' Fu' sweet that day. As

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff the caller air. The rising sun

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad, He wrapt him in Religion.

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of seeming truth and trust Did crafty observation; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of Defamation: A mask that

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

under noted; Then know all ye whom it concerns,

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

little in your pat; Sae dinna put me in your buke. Nor for my ten white shillings luke. This list wi' my ain hand I wrote it, the day and date as

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

dear pay for a saddle; My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. The kirk and you may tak' you that, It puts but

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

license out I'm takin'; Frae this time forth, I do declare I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, Ere I sae

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Robert Burns Poetry Bot @robertburnsbot.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

I've paid enough for her already, An' gin ye tax her or her mither, B' the L--d! ye'se get them a'thegither. And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of

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