The Poetry of Robert Burns, Հատոր 1
T. C. and E. C. Jack, 1896
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ADDRESS amang appears auld Bard Beneath bonie Book Burns common copy dead dear death Deil deleted died Edinburgh Edition EPISTLE Ev'n ev'ry face fair faith fate fear frae grace guid hand head hear heart hills honest hope hour John Kilmarnock kind lasses letter light LINE Lord mair meet mind monie morn mourn Muse ne'er never night Notes o'er owre pleasure poem Poet poor present pride printed published rhyme Robert round Scotland Scottish sent sing song STANZA sweet tear tell thee thou thought thro Till tune unco verses VIII weary weel Whyles wild winds worth young
Էջ 111 - The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry ; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless...
Էջ 277 - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
Էջ 114 - 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.
Էջ 190 - Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, Wild as the wave ; Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame, But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name ! Reader, attend — whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit ;...
Էջ 113 - From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man's the noblest work of God'; And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp?
Էջ 115 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...
Էջ 286 - Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o...
Էջ 219 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, '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.
Էջ 282 - Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; 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!
Էջ 372 - There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — 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.