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Poem by Robert Burns


The Humble Petition of Bruar Water


MY Lord, I know your noble ear
  Woe neer assails in vain;
Emboldend thus, I beg youll hear
  Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus scorching beams,
  In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
  And drink my crystal tide.

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts,
  That thro my waters play,
If, in their random wanton spouts,
  They near the margin stray;
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
  Im scorching up so shallow,
Theyre left the whitening stanes amang,
  In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat wi spite and teen,
  As poet Burns came by,
That to a bard I should be seen
  Wi half my channel dry:
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,
  Even as I was, he shord me;
But had I in my glory been,
  He kneeling, wad adord me.

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,
  In twisting strength I rin;
There high my boiling torrent smokes,
  Wild-roaring oer a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well
  As Nature gave them me,
I am, altho I sayt mysel,
  Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please
  To grant my highest wishes,
Hell shade my banks wi towring trees,
  And bonnie spreading bushes.
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
  Youll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
  Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober laverock, warbling wild,
  Shall to the skies aspire;
The gowdspink, Musics gayest child,
  Shall sweetly join the choir:
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
  The mavis mild and mellow;
The robin pensive Autumn cheer,
  In all her locks of yellow.

This, too, a covert shall ensure,
  To shield them from the storm;
And coward maukin sleep secure,
  Low in her grassy form:
Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
  To weave his crown of flowrs;
Or find a sheltering safe retreat
  From prone-descending showrs.

And here, by sweet endearing stealth,
  Shall meet the loving pair,
Despising worlds with all their wealth
  As empty idle care:
The flowrs shall vie in all their charms
  The hour of heavn to grace,
And birks extend their fragrant arms,
  To screen the dear embrace.

Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
  Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking dewy lawn,
  And misty mountain gray;
Or, by the reapers nightly beam,
  Mild-chequering thro the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
  Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
  My lowly banks oerspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,
  Their shadows watry bed!
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest
  My craggy cliffs adorn;
And, for the little songsters nest,
  The close embowring thorn.

So may Old Scotias darling hope,
  Your little angel band,
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
  Their honourd native land!
So may thro Albions farthest ken,
  To social-flowing glasses
The grace be-Atholes honest men,
  And Atholes bonnie lasses!



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Mark Yonder Pomp
  2. Theres News, Lasses
  3. Scroggam
  4. To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard Presented her
  5. The Toast


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