Poems: Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, Том 4

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Страница 140 - Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree and a' that. For a
Страница 54 - I'll forsake him, He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? Yestreen at the Valentines...
Страница 347 - Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon To see the woodbine twine, And ilka bird sang o' its love; And sae did I o
Страница 158 - 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!
Страница 34 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Страница 65 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha s>ae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Страница 27 - Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die ? She may gae to — France for me ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Страница 4 - Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize ; The sodger's wealth is...
Страница 145 - Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we ; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be ! We are na fou, &c. It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin...
Страница 99 - 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 ? That sacred hour can I forget ? Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love...

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