The Poems of Robert BurnsJ.M. Dent, 1898 - 331 страница |
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Страница ix
... sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him , in his and their native language . Though a Rhymer from his earliest years , at least from the earliest impulses of the softer passions ...
... sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him , in his and their native language . Though a Rhymer from his earliest years , at least from the earliest impulses of the softer passions ...
Страница xi
... sing in his Country's service , where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious Names of his native Land ; those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Country found ...
... sing in his Country's service , where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious Names of his native Land ; those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Country found ...
Страница 6
... sing ! My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ; I've play'd mysel a bonie spring , An ' danc'd my fill ! I'd better gaen an ' sair't the king , At Bunker's Hill . ' Twas ae night lately , in my fun , I gaed a rovin wi ' the gun , An ...
... sing ! My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ; I've play'd mysel a bonie spring , An ' danc'd my fill ! I'd better gaen an ' sair't the king , At Bunker's Hill . ' Twas ae night lately , in my fun , I gaed a rovin wi ' the gun , An ...
Страница 18
... sing't when we hae done . It's no in titles nor in rank ; It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank , To purchase peace and rest : It's no in makin ' muckle , mair ; It's no in books , it's no in lear , To make us truly blest : If happiness ...
... sing't when we hae done . It's no in titles nor in rank ; It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank , To purchase peace and rest : It's no in makin ' muckle , mair ; It's no in books , it's no in lear , To make us truly blest : If happiness ...
Страница 22
... singing here , an ' dancin there , Wi ' great and sma ' ; For I am keepit by Thy fear But yet , Free frae them a ' . O Lord ! confess I must , At times I'm fash'd wi ' fleshly lust : An ' sometimes , too , in warldly trust , Vile self ...
... singing here , an ' dancin there , Wi ' great and sma ' ; For I am keepit by Thy fear But yet , Free frae them a ' . O Lord ! confess I must , At times I'm fash'd wi ' fleshly lust : An ' sometimes , too , in warldly trust , Vile self ...
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Чести термини и фразе
aith amang ance auld baith Balmaghie bard Beneath blate blest bonie BRIG brunstane Buy braw troggin cauld dear Death deil e'en e'er EPISTLE Ev'n ev'ry fair fate fear Fête Champêtre flow'rs frae gien gies grace gude guid hame hear heart Heaven hell himsel holy honest honour ither John Barleycorn Kilmarnock laird lasses leuk Lord Mauchline maun mony mourn muckle muse Nae mair Nature's ne'er never night noble o'er owre poet poor pow'r pride printed by Burns rhyme roar ROBERT BURNS round Samson's dead sang sark Scotia's Scotland sing skelpin sodger St Stephen's House sweet taen tell thee thegither There's thou thro unco waur weary weel Whare Whig whistle Willie winna wrang ye'll ye're
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Страница 245 - The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll : When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
Страница 232 - THOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O, 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 191 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Страница 92 - 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 169 - 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 72 - 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...
Страница 93 - Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part: (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard...
Страница 236 - Wi' care nor thrall opprest. Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae ; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae : The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang ; But I the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang.
Страница 71 - WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, :• Wi...
Страница 87 - November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end. Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.