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Poem by Robert Burns


Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux


Now Robin lies in his last lair,
Hell gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair,
Cauld poverty, wi hungry stare,
    Nae mair shall fear him;
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care,
    Eer mair come near him.

To tell the truth, they seldom fasht him,
Except the moment that they crusht him;
For sune as chance or fate had husht em,
    Tho eer sae short,
Then wi a rhyme or sang he lasht em,
    And thought it sport.

Tho he was bred to kintra wark,
And counted was baith wight and stark,
Yet that was never Robins mark
    To mak a man;
But tell him he was learnd and clark,
    Ye roosd him than!



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Tam Samsons Elegy
  2. Could Aught of Song
  3. O Lassie, Art Thou Sleeping Yet?
  4. Scroggam
  5. Stanzas on the Same Occasion


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