Burns in English: Select Poems of Robert BurnsA. Corbett, 1892 - 112 страница |
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... hear it all , and fear and tremble . I see how folk live that have riches , But surely poor folk must be wretches . LUATH . They're not so wretched's one would think ; Though always on misfortune's brink , They're so accustomed to the ...
... hear it all , and fear and tremble . I see how folk live that have riches , But surely poor folk must be wretches . LUATH . They're not so wretched's one would think ; Though always on misfortune's brink , They're so accustomed to the ...
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... hear their absent thoughts of other , They're devils all , and jades together ; At times , o'er dainty cup and platter , They sip their tea with scandal clatter , Or all the night , with crabbed looks , Pore o'er the devil's pictured ...
... hear their absent thoughts of other , They're devils all , and jades together ; At times , o'er dainty cup and platter , They sip their tea with scandal clatter , Or all the night , with crabbed looks , Pore o'er the devil's pictured ...
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... , Nick , or Clootie , Who in your cavern grim and sooty , Close under hatches , Scatters about the brimstone cootie , To scald poor wretches . Hear me , Old Nick , just for a moment BURNS IN ENGLISH . 9 Address to the Devil.
... , Nick , or Clootie , Who in your cavern grim and sooty , Close under hatches , Scatters about the brimstone cootie , To scald poor wretches . Hear me , Old Nick , just for a moment BURNS IN ENGLISH . 9 Address to the Devil.
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Select Poems of Robert Burns Robert Burns. Hear me , Old Nick , just for a moment , And let poor damned souls lie dormant ; Small pleasure it must be to torment Us weary dogs ; To put us in a torturing ferment , And squeal like hogs ...
Select Poems of Robert Burns Robert Burns. Hear me , Old Nick , just for a moment , And let poor damned souls lie dormant ; Small pleasure it must be to torment Us weary dogs ; To put us in a torturing ferment , And squeal like hogs ...
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... hear the tolling bell , She's free from care . " That's just a patch of Hornbook's way ; Thus goes he on from day to day , Thus does he poison , kill , and slay , To my sore hurt , And cheats me of my lawful prey With his d - d dirt ...
... hear the tolling bell , She's free from care . " That's just a patch of Hornbook's way ; Thus goes he on from day to day , Thus does he poison , kill , and slay , To my sore hurt , And cheats me of my lawful prey With his d - d dirt ...
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Ae fond kiss ALEXANDER CORBETT Allan Cunningham auld lang syne bard BEELZEBUB Beneath better blest bonny bonny lass brave John Highlandman breast Burns CÆSAR cheerful CHORUS clatter dance days of auld dear devils drink e'en e'er EPISTLE Ev'n ev'ry face fair faith fate fear fire folks fool give Glen glorious grace gray groans Halloween hand head hear heart Heaven hell Highland holy honest Hornbook jades Jean John Anderson JOLLY BEGGARS Lal de daudle Lal de lal lasses light Lord loud Mauchline meet Muse Nature's ne'er never night o'er the sea pleasure plough poems poet poor pride race rhyme roar ROBERT BURNS round rustic scarce Scotia's Scotland sight Sing sodger laddie song sore soul sweet TAM O'SHANTER TARBOLTON tell thee There's thou thought toil tune Twas weary ween whistle th wimpling young
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Страница 13 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i
Страница 26 - 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.
Страница 112 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Страница 31 - 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 32 - Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro...
Страница 30 - An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a
Страница 111 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast ? That sacred hour can I forget?
Страница 31 - Martyrs, worthy of the name, Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, The sweetest far of 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 110 - Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a" that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A Man's a Man for a
Страница 30 - But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door , Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; Wi...