The Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Svazek 3W. Pickering, 1839 - Počet stran: 319 |
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Strana 33
... weel . : her voice made my heart - strings thrill like an Æolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious rattan when I looked and fingered over her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle stings and thistles . Among ...
... weel . : her voice made my heart - strings thrill like an Æolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious rattan when I looked and fingered over her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle stings and thistles . Among ...
Strana 41
... weel - far'd face , 3 And the glancin ' of her sparklin ' een . + fresher . 5 When . 6 An ' she's twa glancin ' sparklin ' een . 7 And shoots its head above each bush . This song was printed by Cromek " from the oral com- munication of ...
... weel - far'd face , 3 And the glancin ' of her sparklin ' een . + fresher . 5 When . 6 An ' she's twa glancin ' sparklin ' een . 7 And shoots its head above each bush . This song was printed by Cromek " from the oral com- munication of ...
Strana 46
... , which will appear , perhaps , in Johnson's work , as well as the former . You must know a beautiful Jacobite air , There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame . ' " We dare na weel say't , but we ken wha's 46 THE POEMS.
... , which will appear , perhaps , in Johnson's work , as well as the former . You must know a beautiful Jacobite air , There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame . ' " We dare na weel say't , but we ken wha's 46 THE POEMS.
Strana 47
Robert Burns Sir Nicholas Harris Nicolas. We dare na weel say't , but we ken wha's to blame- There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame . My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword , And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd ...
Robert Burns Sir Nicholas Harris Nicolas. We dare na weel say't , but we ken wha's to blame- There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame . My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword , And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd ...
Strana 89
... weel eneugh , I sell'd them a ' just ane by ane ; Guid ale keeps my heart aboon . Guid ale hauds me bare and busy , Gars me moop wi ' the servant hizzie , Stand i ' the stool when I hae done , Guid ale keeps my heart aboon . O guid ale ...
... weel eneugh , I sell'd them a ' just ane by ane ; Guid ale keeps my heart aboon . Guid ale hauds me bare and busy , Gars me moop wi ' the servant hizzie , Stand i ' the stool when I hae done , Guid ale keeps my heart aboon . O guid ale ...
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aboon Allan Cunningham Allan Cunningham says amang auld lang syne ballad Balmaghie Bannocks blate body kiss Bonie bonnie lass bonnie Mary braes Burns says Buy braw troggin Charlie charms CHORUS Claut Collection in 1801 copy Cromek's Reliques dear dearie Deil dimin e'en e'er EPITAPH fair Farewell flower frae Galla Water Glasgow Glasgow Collection glen grows bonnie wi gude hame heart Highland Highland laddie ilka Jamie Kenmure's Kilmarnock kiss laddie lassie lo'es Lord Mally's Mauchline maun monie Musical Museum nane ne'er Netherplace never night o'er Och-on owre Peggy printed in Cromek's rhyme Robin rue grows bonnie sing soger song occurs sparklin sweet tear tell thee Thomson thro thyme TUNE twa sparkling rogueish unco verses weary weel Whigs wife Willie winna wither'd ye'll ye're young
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Strana 16 - Let him follow me! By oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die!
Strana 240 - 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 ;...
Strana 12 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Strana 20 - A man's a man for a' that : For a' that, an' a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that ; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men, for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'da lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Tho' hundreds worship at his word. He's but a coof. for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a
Strana 19 - Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Strana 15 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae 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'?
Strana 11 - YE banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O
Strana 55 - 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 or saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, 1 sigh'd, and said, amang them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison!
Strana 77 - The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.
Strana 76 - 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? 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?