The Poems of Robert BurnsJ.M. Dent, 1898 - 331 страница |
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Страница 12
... Weel fed on pastures orthodox , " -POPE . Wha now will keep you frae the fox , Or worrying tykes ? O , wha will tent the waifs an ' crocks , About the dykes ? The twa best herds in a ' the wast , 12 POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS The Twa Herds.
... Weel fed on pastures orthodox , " -POPE . Wha now will keep you frae the fox , Or worrying tykes ? O , wha will tent the waifs an ' crocks , About the dykes ? The twa best herds in a ' the wast , 12 POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS The Twa Herds.
Страница 13
... Weel kend his voice thro ' a ' the wood , He smell'd their ilka hole an ' road , Baith out an ' in ; An ' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid , An ' sell their skin . The New What herd like Russell tell'd his tale ; POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS 13.
... Weel kend his voice thro ' a ' the wood , He smell'd their ilka hole an ' road , Baith out an ' in ; An ' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid , An ' sell their skin . The New What herd like Russell tell'd his tale ; POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS 13.
Страница 27
... Weel , weel ! ' says I , ' a bargain be❜t ; ' Come , gie's your hand , an ' sae we're gree't ; We'll ease our shanks an ' tak a seat- " - ' Come , gie's your news ; This while ye hae been mony a gate , ' At mony a house . ' Ay , ay ...
... Weel , weel ! ' says I , ' a bargain be❜t ; ' Come , gie's your hand , an ' sae we're gree't ; We'll ease our shanks an ' tak a seat- " - ' Come , gie's your news ; This while ye hae been mony a gate , ' At mony a house . ' Ay , ay ...
Страница 28
... weel acquaint wi ' Buchan ' And ither chaps , The weans haud out their fingers laughin , ' An ' pouk my hips . ' See , here's a scythe , an ' there's a dart , They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; But Doctor Hornbook wi ' his art ' An ...
... weel acquaint wi ' Buchan ' And ither chaps , The weans haud out their fingers laughin , ' An ' pouk my hips . ' See , here's a scythe , an ' there's a dart , They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; But Doctor Hornbook wi ' his art ' An ...
Страница 29
... weel hae tried a quarry ' O ' hard whin rock . Ev'n them he canna get attended , ' Altho ' their face he ne'er had kend it , • Just in a kail - blade , an ' send it , ' As soon's he smells ' t , • Baith their disease , and what will ...
... weel hae tried a quarry ' O ' hard whin rock . Ev'n them he canna get attended , ' Altho ' their face he ne'er had kend it , • Just in a kail - blade , an ' send it , ' As soon's he smells ' t , • Baith their disease , and what will ...
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Друга издања - Прикажи све
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.