Robbie Burns Quotes

Pleasures are like poppies spread You seize the flower its bloom is shed Or like the snow falls in the river A moment white, then melts forever Or like the Borealis race That flit ere you can point their place Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanshing amidst the storm Nae man can tether time nor tide The hour approaches, Tam must ride

Robert Burns was never called Rabbie or Robbie—though he did occasionally call himself Spunkie.

I’ve never stopped caring about you,” he said, and I felt my cheeks burn. Now I was grateful he couldn’t see me; I’m sure I looked like a fire truck. “I really did miss you, Lani.” “I missed you too, Robbie,” I let myself say. And I knew I’d done the thing I promised I wouldn’t. I’d completely fallen for Robbie Choi.

If you thought “Rabbie Burns” wrote “Auld Lang Syne,” you’d be doubly wrong. Burns never signed his name “Rabbie” or “Robbie” (or, indeed, “Bobbie” Burns, as some North Americans insist on calling him). His signatures included “Robert,” “Robin,” “Rab”—and, on at least one occasion, “Spunkie.

In the process, Robbie Flak had spent all his money, burned every bridge, alienated almost every friend, and driven himself to the point of exhaustion and instability.

A Mother's Lament Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour'd laid; So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age's future shade. The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish'd young; So I, for my lost darling's sake, Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I've feared thy fatal blow. Now, fond, I bare my breast; O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest!

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death" "O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear! If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun, As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done; Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong; And list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do Thou, All-Good -for such Thou art- In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive.

Epitaph on my own Friend" "An honest man here lies at rest, As e’er God with His image blest: The friend of man, the friend of truth; The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d, Few heads with knowledge so inform’d: If there’s another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this.

A Bard's Epitaph" "Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, Wild as the wave, Here pause-and, thro' the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn the wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name! Reader, attend! whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit: Know, prudent, cautious, self-control Is wisdom's root.