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Poem by Robert Burns

The Banks Of Nith

To thee, lovd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
  Where late wi careless thought I rangd,
Though prest wi care and sunk in woe,
  To thee I bring a heart unchangd.

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
  Tho memry there my bosom tear;
For there he rovd that brake my heart,
  Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear!

                      Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Theres News, Lasses
  2. Scroggam
  3. Theres a Youth in This City
  4. The Toast
  5. Lines Written at Loudon Manse

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