The Poetical Works of Robert Burns: With a Sketch of the Author's Life, Том 1Little, Brown, 1864 |
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... Blithe was she d 337 SONG - The Rose - bud .. d 338 To Miss Cruikshank , a very young Lady C 339 SONG - Where braving angry Winter's Storms ... d 340 SONG - My Peggy's Face d 341 Address to Mr. William Tytler ... e 342 SONG - On a young ...
... Blithe was she d 337 SONG - The Rose - bud .. d 338 To Miss Cruikshank , a very young Lady C 339 SONG - Where braving angry Winter's Storms ... d 340 SONG - My Peggy's Face d 341 Address to Mr. William Tytler ... e 342 SONG - On a young ...
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... blithe and sweet , And , what is best of a ' , Her reputation is complete , And fair without a flaw.1 1 Variation in Mr. John Dick's MS . : - But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet , Good - humoured , frank , and free ; She dresses aye ...
... blithe and sweet , And , what is best of a ' , Her reputation is complete , And fair without a flaw.1 1 Variation in Mr. John Dick's MS . : - But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet , Good - humoured , frank , and free ; She dresses aye ...
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... blithe that hauds his pleugh , And has nae care but Nannie , O. Come weal , come woe , I care nae by , I'll tak what Heaven will send me , O ; Nae ither care in life have I , But live and love my Nannie , O. TIBBIE , I HAE SEEN THE DAY ...
... blithe that hauds his pleugh , And has nae care but Nannie , O. Come weal , come woe , I care nae by , I'll tak what Heaven will send me , O ; Nae ither care in life have I , But live and love my Nannie , O. TIBBIE , I HAE SEEN THE DAY ...
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... shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o ' barley ! I hae been blithe wi ' comrades dear ; I hae been merry drinkin ' ; VOL . I. 5 I hae been joyfu ' gathʼrin ' gear ; I THE RIGS O ' BARLEY . 65 SONG-The Rigs o' Barley a.
... shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o ' barley ! I hae been blithe wi ' comrades dear ; I hae been merry drinkin ' ; VOL . I. 5 I hae been joyfu ' gathʼrin ' gear ; I THE RIGS O ' BARLEY . 65 SONG-The Rigs o' Barley a.
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... blithe and witty , Till ye forget ye ' re auld and gutty , And be as canty As ye were nine year less than thretty Sweet ane - and - twenty ! But stooks are cowpit wi ' the blast , And now the sinn keeks in the west , Then I maun rin ...
... blithe and witty , Till ye forget ye ' re auld and gutty , And be as canty As ye were nine year less than thretty Sweet ane - and - twenty ! But stooks are cowpit wi ' the blast , And now the sinn keeks in the west , Then I maun rin ...
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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
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Страница 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.
Страница 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...
Страница 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...
Страница 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...
Страница 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.
Страница 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!
Страница 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..
Страница 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...
Страница 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!
Страница 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?