Poet Robert Burns

Scottish poet (B:1759-01-25 - D:1796-07-21)

Poems Comments

Song'the Battle Of Sherramuir

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?"
I saw the battle, sair and teugh,
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.


The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd
And mony a bouk did fa', man:
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanced twenty miles;
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords, clash'd,
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.


But had ye seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs,
And covenant True-blues, man:
In lines extended lang and large,
When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge;
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted dows, man!
La, la, la, la, &c.


"O how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man;
I saw mysel, they did pursue,
The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And mony a huntit poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man!"
La, la, la, la, &c.


My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth unto Dundee, man;
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae gude will
That day their neibors' blude to spill;
For fear, for foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose; they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.


They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man,
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
But mony bade the world gude-night;
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell
Flew off in frighted bands, man!
La, la, la, la, &c.



Poem topics: , , , , , , , , ,

Rate this poem:

Add Song'the Battle Of Sherramuir poem to your favorites

Add Poet Robert Burns to your favorites

Popular Poets

William Browne (10 poems)
Gladys Cromwell (1 poems)
Isabella Valancy Crawford (53 poems)
Aubrey De Vere (4 poems)
Margaret Widdemer (4 poems)
John Keats (70 poems)
Alice Meynell (5 poems)
Aphra Behn (2 poems)
Percy Bysshe Shelley (44 poems)
Ethna Carbery (2 poems)

Popular Poems

Cavalry Charge At Balaclava, by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Aliter, by Andrew Marvell
Good Friday, by Edgar Albert Guest
First Party At Ken Kesey's With Hell's Angels, by Allen Ginsberg
On Retirement, by Philip Freneau
General Roberts In Afghanistan, by William Topaz McGonagall
High Conspiratorial Person, by Carl Sandburg
I'M Still Just A Child, by Franz Werfel
Mother's Job, by Edgar Albert Guest
Playboy, by Robert Service