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Страница 10 - For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne! Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne ? And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine, And we'll tak a cup o...
Страница 166 - Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
Страница 93 - For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die. All...
Страница 39 - Come where my love lies dreaming Dreaming the happy hours away; In visions bright redeeming, The fleeting joys of day. Dreaming the happy hours, Dreaming the happy hours away!
Страница 10 - Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, &c. We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn, From morning sun till dine ; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin
Страница 97 - There is nae luck about the house, There is nae luck at a', There is nae luck about the house, When our gudemau 's awa'. Is this a time to think o...
Страница 37 - Here, in cool grot and mossy cell, We rural Fays and Fairies dwell ; Though rarely seen by mortal eye, When the pale moon, ascending high, Darts through yon lines her quivering beams, We frisk it near these crystal streams.
Страница 52 - ... tone of melancholy reproach, I entreat. What can I do more than tell you all I know, and acknowledge my ignorance of all I don't know! How does that little old song go, which, under pretence of being cheerful, is by far the most lugubrious I ever heard in my life? "Away with melancholy, Nor doleful changes ring On life and human folly, But merrily merrily sing Fal la!" Don't let us sing Fal la, my dear Mortimer (which is comparatively unmeaning), but let us sing that we give up guessing the riddle...
Страница 158 - O Lord ! O dear, my heart will break, I shall go stick stark staring wild ! Has ever a one seen any thing about the streets like a crying lost-looking child ? Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to run, if I only knew which way — A Child as is lost about London streets, and especially Seven Dials, is a needle in a bottle of hay. I am all in a quiver — get out...

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