The Poetical Works of Robert Burns: With a Sketch of the Author's Life, Bind 1Little, Brown, 1864 |
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Side 74
... sang , ye'll sen ' t wi ' canny care , And no neglect . Though , faith , sma ' heart hae I to sing ! My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ; I've played mysel a bonnie spring , And danced my fill ; I'd better gaen and sair't the king At ...
... sang , ye'll sen ' t wi ' canny care , And no neglect . Though , faith , sma ' heart hae I to sing ! My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ; I've played mysel a bonnie spring , And danced my fill ; I'd better gaen and sair't the king At ...
Side 80
... sang he lash't ' em , And thought it sport . Though he was bred to kintra wark , And counted was baith wight and stark , Yet that was never Robin's mark To mak a man ; But tell him , he was learned and clark , Ye roosed him than ! THE ...
... sang he lash't ' em , And thought it sport . Though he was bred to kintra wark , And counted was baith wight and stark , Yet that was never Robin's mark To mak a man ; But tell him , he was learned and clark , Ye roosed him than ! THE ...
Side 95
... sang about . There was ae sang , amang the rest , Aboon them a ' it pleased me best , That some kind husband had addrest To some sweet wife : It thirled the heart - strings through the breast , A ' to the life . I've scarce heard ought ...
... sang about . There was ae sang , amang the rest , Aboon them a ' it pleased me best , That some kind husband had addrest To some sweet wife : It thirled the heart - strings through the breast , A ' to the life . I've scarce heard ought ...
Side 97
... sang ? " 9 But , by your leaves , my learned foes , Ye're maybe wrang . What ' s a ' your jargon o ' your schools , Your Latin names for horns and stools ? If honest Nature made you fools , What sairs your grammars ? Ye'd better taen up ...
... sang ? " 9 But , by your leaves , my learned foes , Ye're maybe wrang . What ' s a ' your jargon o ' your schools , Your Latin names for horns and stools ? If honest Nature made you fools , What sairs your grammars ? Ye'd better taen up ...
Side 112
... sang ! The war'ly race may drudge and drive , Hog - shouther , jundie , stretch and strive ; Let me fair Nature's face descrive , And I wi ' pleasure , Shall let the busy grumbling hive Bum owre their treasure . Fareweel , “ my rhyme ...
... sang ! The war'ly race may drudge and drive , Hog - shouther , jundie , stretch and strive ; Let me fair Nature's face descrive , And I wi ' pleasure , Shall let the busy grumbling hive Bum owre their treasure . Fareweel , “ my rhyme ...
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aboon aith amang ance auld baith bard beneath blate blest blithe bonnie lass braes BRIG brunstane Burns canna cauld Charlie Fox charms chiel dear deil dinna e'en e'er fair faith Farewell fate fear fortune's frae gaun gien gies grace guid hame haud hear heart Heaven Highland honest honour ither John Barleycorn Kilmarnock laird lassie Lord Mauchline maun monie mourn muckle Muse mutchkin nae mair Nature's ne'er never night noble o'er out-owre owre pleasure pleugh poet poor pride rhyme roar ROBERT BURNS round rustic Samson's dead sang Scotia's Scotland shew sing skelpin sweet ta'en tear tell thee thegither There's thou TUNE unco wander warl weary weel whare whistle Whyles wild Willie Willie's awa winna wrang wretched Ye'll
Populære passager
Side 146 - Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Side 125 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...
Side 229 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. And whelm him o'er. " Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has...
Side 357 - Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Side 228 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Side 126 - An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Side 140 - Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty, or scorn ? Or why has Man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ? Yet, let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human kind..
Side 146 - Scotia's holy lays: Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With...
Side 64 - The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a'; — "Ye are na Mary Morison!
Side 138 - MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. j|HEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening, as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man, whose aged step Seemed weary, worn with care ; His face was furrowed o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? Began the reverend sage ; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage?