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according appears auld became believe born brother Burns Burns's called Campbell character copy dear death died doubt Edinburgh edition Epistle expressed fair farm father feelings fortune frae Gilbert give given Hamilton hand happy head hear heart Highland hope hour James Jean John Kilmarnock kind lass letter light lived Lodge look mair Mary Mauchline means meet mind minister Mossgiel mother nature ne'er never night o'er owre parish perhaps period person pleasure poem poet poet's poor present published reason Robert scene Scotland sing song sweet Tarbolton tell thee Thou thought thro till took verse volume wish write written young
Side 306 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Side 338 - There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.
Side 95 - Yestreen, when to the trembling string 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 323 - Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine — no distant date ; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom ! TO RUIN.
Side 218 - November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes — This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. HI At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant...
Side 215 - See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful tho' a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn.
Side 115 - With passions wild and strong; And list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong.
Side 37 - With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire : Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.