Free Poetry E-Book: 138 poems of Robert Burns
File Size: 1188k  File Format: Acrobat Reader
To download this eBook right-Click on the title and select "Save Target As". 

Scottish Independence Guide: Scottish Poetry

The Little White Rose

The rose of all the world is not for me

I want for my part

only the little white rose of Scotland

That smells sharp and sweet

and breaks the heart

 Hugh MacDiarmid

The John Maclean March

Hey Mac did ye see him as he cam in by Gorgie,

Awa ower the Lammerlaw and north o’ the Tay?

Yon man is comin’ and the hale toon is turnin’ oot,

We’re aa’ sair he’ll win back tae Glasga the day.

The jiners and hauders-on are marchin’ fae Clydebank,

Come noo an’ hear him, he’ll be ower thrang tae bide.

Turn oot Jock and Jimmie, leave yer cranes an’ yer muckle gantries

Great John Maclean’s comin’ back tae the Clyde.

Argyle Street and London Road’s the route that we’re mairchin’

The lads frae the Broomielaw are oot tae a man.

Hey, Neil, whaur’s yer hoderums, ye big Hielan teuchter?.

Get yer pipes, mate, and march at the heid o’the clan!

Hallo Pat Malone, I knew ye’d be here, son

The red and green, my lads, we’ll wear side by side,

The Gorbals is his the day and Glasgae belangs tae him,

Noo great John Maclean’s comin’ hame tae the Clyde.

It’s forward tae Glasga Green we’ll mairch in guid order,

Will grips his banner weel, that boy isna blate,

Aye there man, that’s Johnny noo, that’s him, aye, the bonnie fechter

Lenin’s his fere, Mac, and Leibnecht’s his mate.

Tak tent when he’s speakin’ for they’ll mind whit wis said here

In Glasgae our city and the hale world besides.

Tha’s richt, lads, the scarlet’s bonnie, here’s tae ye Hielan’ Shonie!

Oor John Maclean has come hame to the Clyde.

An weel when it’s ower, I’ll awa hame tae Springburn,

Come hame tae yer tea noo, John, we’ll soon hae ye fed!

It’s hard wark the speakin’, an I’m sair ye’ll be tired the nicht,

I’ll sleep on the flair, Mac, and gie John the bed.

The hale city’s quiet noo, It kens that he’s restin’

Hame wi’ his Glasga freens, the fame and their pride.

The red will be worn, my lads, and Scotland will rise again,

Noo great John Maclean has come hame tae the Clyde.

Hamish Henderson

Scots Wha Hae

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome tae your gory bed
Or tae victorie!

Noo's the day, and noo's the hour:
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave? -
Let him turn, and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and Law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or dee!

Robert Burns

ROBERT BURNS – SCOTLAND’S RADICAL PATRIOT POET

(originally printed in Democracy Now No. 2 to mark Burns Night 2006.)

Soon Scots across the world will celebrate the life and works of Scotland’s greatest poet, Robert Burns. Burns was a passionate supporter of Scottish independence and of political reform. In Burns time only 0.1% of the population had the vote and reformers like Thomas Muir could be transported for the heinous crimes of demanding parliamentary reform or distributing copies of Thomas Payne’s ‘The Rights of Man’.

Scotland had been officially renamed ‘North Britain’ (England remained England and UK business was referred to as English) and our original Gaelic culture and language had almost been destroyed.

Amongst the ordinary people of Scotland however there was a thirst for liberty which was reflected in Burns writings, poems and songs. If Burns was alive today he would shudder to see the British State still staggering on desperately trying to cling to its dreams of Empire. While our civil liberties have vastly improved and everyone now has the right to vote, those self same liberties are even today under threat by the British Government who still feel that, for certain groups of people, reading the wrong books or exercising your freedom of speech might be grounds for imprisonment without trial.

Our national freedom can only come with independence. Whether Scots believe in right or left wing politics they can achieve neither while the British state holds sway. We will only achieve our independence by uniting our efforts. As Burns is celebrated across the world let’s remember his radical legacy and the sacrifice of his contemparies, his passion for this country and let’s honor his memory by winning our national independence.

"Whatever mitigates the woes or increases the happiness of others, this is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at large or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity."

- Robert Burns

Here is a selection of Robert Burn's poems. You can also download a pdf of his poetry from the link above:

SUCH A PARCEL O' ROGUES IN A NATION

Fareweel to a' our Scotish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel even to the Scotish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story!
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark whare England's province stands,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valor's station;
But English gold has been our bane,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

THE TREE OF LIBERTY

Heard ye o' the tree o' France,
I watna what's the name o't;
Around the tree the patriots dance,
Weel Europe kens the fame o't.
It stands where ance the Bastile stood,
A prison built by kings, man,
When Superstition's hellish brood
Kept France in leading-strings, man.

Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a' can tell, man;
It raises man aboon the brute,
It maks him ken himsel, man.
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit,
He's greater than a lord, man,
And wi' the beggar shares a mite
0' a' he can afford, man

This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth,
To comfort us 'twas sent, man:
To gie the sweetest blush o' health,
And mak us a' content, man
It clears the een, it cheers the heart,
Maks high and low gude friends, man;
And he wha acts the traitor's part,
It to perdition sends, man.

My blessings aye attend the chiel,
Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man,
And staw a branch, spite o' the deil,
Frae yont tho western waves, man.
Fair Virtue watered it wi' care,
And now she sees wi' pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there,
Its branches spreading wide, man.

But vicious folk aye hate to see
The works o' Virtue thrive, man;
The courtly vermin's banned the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man;
King Loui' thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma', man
For this the watchman cracked his crown,
Cut aff his head and a', man.

A wicked crew syne, on a time,
Did tak a solemn aith, man,
It ne'er should flourish to its prime,
I wat they pledged their faith, man.
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o' the trade,
And wished they'd been at hame, man.

For Freedom, standing by the tree,
Her sons did loudly ca', man;
She sang a sang o' liberty,
Which pleased them ane and a', man
By her inspired, the new-born race
Soon drew the avenging steel, man;
The hirelings ran--her foes gied chase,
And banged the despot weel, man

Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar and her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke,
And o'er her neighbours shine, man
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon 'twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree can not be found
'Twixt London and the Tweed, man.

Without this tree, alake this life
Is but a vale o' wo, man;
A scene o' sorrow mixed wi' strife,
Nae real joys we know, man.
We labour soon, we labour late,
To feed the titled knave, man;
And a' the comfort we're to get,
Is that ayont the grave, man.

Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow,
The warld would live in peace, man;
The sword would help to mak a plough,
The din o' war wad cease, man.
Like brethren in a common cause,
We'd on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
Wad gladden every isle, man.

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat
Sic halesome dainty cheer, man;
I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet,
To taste sic fruit, I swear, man.
Syne let us pray, auld England may
Sure plant this far-famed tree, man;
And blithe we'll sing, and hail the day
That gave us liberty, man.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT

Is there, for honest Poverty
That hings his head, and a' that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, and a' that.
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A Man's a Man for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd, a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that,
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
His ribband, star and a' that,
The man of independant mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' Sense, and pride o' Worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth
Shall bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Its comin yet for a' that,
That Man to Man the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Learn more about Robert Burns here