Sind die Gedichte "Poem on pastoral poetry" and "Verses on the destruction of Drumlanrig Woods" von Robert Burns?

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Marburg, 1903 - 60 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 34 - Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scar it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night.
Strana 14 - ... We are not carried to Greece or Italy for a Shade, a Stream or a Breeze. The Groves rise in our own Valleys ; the Rivers flow from our own Fountains, and the Winds blow upon our own Hills. I find not Fault with those Things, as they are in Greece or Italy : But with a Northern Poet for fetching his Materials from these Places, in a Poem, of which his own Country is the Scene ; as our Hymners to the Spring and Makers of Pastorals frequently do.
Strana 26 - The fates and characters of the rhyming tribe often employ my thoughts when I am disposed to be melancholy. There is not, among all the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful a narrative as the lives of the poets.
Strana 5 - The symptoms of his passion were often such as nearly to equal those of the celebrated Sappho.
Strana 8 - I may have seen men and manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may assist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty of my character has by far the greatest share in the learned and polite notice I have lately...
Strana 14 - The morning rises (in the poet's description) as she does in the Scottish horizon. We are not carried to Greece or Italy for a shade, a stream, or a breeze. The groves rise in our own valleys ; the rivers flow 20 from our own fountains ; and the winds blow upon our own hills.
Strana 44 - One bar, indeed, his birth and education have opposed to his fame, — the language in which most of his poems are written. Even in Scotland, the provincial dialect which Ramsay and he have used is now read with a difficulty which greatly damps the pleasure of the reader...
Strana 51 - Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer pride, Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, And drink my crystal tide. The...
Strana 4 - The following trifles are not the production of the poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and, perhaps, amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil.
Strana 30 - 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 hae not her seat An...

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