The prose works of Robert Burns; containing his letters and correspondence and amatory epistles1819 |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 52
Страница 3
... called love with the greatest part of us , and I must own , my dear E. it is a hard game such a one as you have to play when you meet with such a lover . You cannot admit but he is sincere , and yet , though you use him ever so ...
... called love with the greatest part of us , and I must own , my dear E. it is a hard game such a one as you have to play when you meet with such a lover . You cannot admit but he is sincere , and yet , though you use him ever so ...
Страница 17
... called wicked . Let any of the strictest character for regularity of conduct among us , examine impartially how many vices he has never been guilty of , not from any care or vigi- lance , but for want of opportunity , or some acci ...
... called wicked . Let any of the strictest character for regularity of conduct among us , examine impartially how many vices he has never been guilty of , not from any care or vigi- lance , but for want of opportunity , or some acci ...
Страница 23
... called away by the calls of society , or the vagaries of the muse . Even in the hour of social mirth , my gaiety is the mad- ness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the executioner . All these reasons urge me to go ( 23 ) ...
... called away by the calls of society , or the vagaries of the muse . Even in the hour of social mirth , my gaiety is the mad- ness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the executioner . All these reasons urge me to go ( 23 ) ...
Страница 35
... called on me yesterday on the part of your lordship . Your munificence , my lord , certainly deserves my very grateful acknowledgments ; but your patronage is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings . I am not master enough of the ...
... called on me yesterday on the part of your lordship . Your munificence , my lord , certainly deserves my very grateful acknowledgments ; but your patronage is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings . I am not master enough of the ...
Страница 49
... called conscience . Had the trouble- some yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief , he might be of use ; but at the beginning of the business , his feeble efforts are to the work- ings of passion as the infant frosts of an ...
... called conscience . Had the trouble- some yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief , he might be of use ; but at the beginning of the business , his feeble efforts are to the work- ings of passion as the infant frosts of an ...
Садржај
11 | |
17 | |
23 | |
34 | |
38 | |
44 | |
50 | |
52 | |
223 | |
235 | |
237 | |
243 | |
249 | |
257 | |
262 | |
268 | |
59 | |
60 | |
61 | |
62 | |
63 | |
64 | |
65 | |
68 | |
69 | |
70 | |
71 | |
84 | |
91 | |
96 | |
107 | |
123 | |
134 | |
142 | |
143 | |
144 | |
150 | |
151 | |
152 | |
155 | |
166 | |
182 | |
189 | |
196 | |
202 | |
206 | |
209 | |
217 | |
275 | |
276 | |
279 | |
280 | |
282 | |
283 | |
285 | |
287 | |
292 | |
296 | |
300 | |
304 | |
307 | |
312 | |
313 | |
316 | |
319 | |
437 | |
451 | |
465 | |
480 | |
488 | |
497 | |
506 | |
512 | |
519 | |
524 | |
532 | |
585 | |
591 | |
598 | |
605 | |
Чести термини и фразе
&c.-See Poems acquaintance admire Allan Ramsay amiable Ayrshire ballad bard beautiful bonnie BURNS character charming compliments copy CUNNINGHAM dare dear friend dear Madam dear Sir delight Dryburgh Abbey duke of Athole Dumfries DUNLOP earl of Glencairn ed friend Edinburgh elegant Ellisland English esteem excise fancy favour favourite feel Fintry flattering follies friendship genius gentleman give happy heart honest honoured friend hope house of Stewart humble humour idea inclose kind lady late letter lord Mauchline meet ment merit mind miserable muse native never night obliging opinion perhaps perusal pleased pleasure poet poetic poetry poor present racter reason ROBERT BURNS Scotland Scots Scottish sentiment Shanter shew sincerely song soul spirit stanzas taste tell thanks thee thing THOMSON thou thought tion tune verses wish worth write
Популарни одломци
Страница 9 - I do not know if I should call it pleasure — but something which. exalts me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in .the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and. hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, 'walks on the wings of the wind.
Страница 163 - Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ; Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.
Страница 152 - Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Страница 115 - I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
Страница 324 - Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword...
Страница 556 - tis nought to me; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes, there must be joy.
Страница 8 - For my own part I never had the least thought or inclination of turning poet till I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a manner the spontaneous language of my heart.
Страница 177 - Thy spirit, Independence ! let me share, Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye ! Thy steps I follow 'with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Страница 465 - It is the moon — I ken her horn, That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! Wha first shall rise to gang awa', A cuckold, coward loon is he ! Wha last beside his chair shall fa...
Страница 306 - O gin my love were yon red rose That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel' a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! Oh, there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus