Select Poems of Robert BurnsD.C. Heath & Company, 1896 - 370 strán (strany) |
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Výsledky 1 - 5 z 46.
Strana 3
... er I saw , Tho ' three times doubl'd fairly , That happy night was worth them a ' , Amang the rigs o ' barley . CHORUS . Corn rigs , an ' barley rigs , An ' corn rigs are bonnie : I'll ne'er forget that happy night , Amang the rigs wi ...
... er I saw , Tho ' three times doubl'd fairly , That happy night was worth them a ' , Amang the rigs o ' barley . CHORUS . Corn rigs , an ' barley rigs , An ' corn rigs are bonnie : I'll ne'er forget that happy night , Amang the rigs wi ...
Strana 6
... ne'er troubles me , My thoughts are a ' , my Nannie , O. Our auld Guidman delights to view His sheep an ' kye thrive bonnie , O ; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh , An ' has nae care but Nannie , O. Come weel , come woe , I care ...
... ne'er troubles me , My thoughts are a ' , my Nannie , O. Our auld Guidman delights to view His sheep an ' kye thrive bonnie , O ; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh , An ' has nae care but Nannie , O. Come weel , come woe , I care ...
Strana 11
... ne'er forgather up Wi ' ony blastit , moorland toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an ' mell , Wi ' sheep o ' credit like thysel ! And now , my bairns , wi ' my last SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS . II.
... ne'er forgather up Wi ' ony blastit , moorland toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an ' mell , Wi ' sheep o ' credit like thysel ! And now , my bairns , wi ' my last SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS . II.
Strana 13
... ne'er cam nigh him , Than Mailie dead . I wat she was a sheep o ' sense , An ' could behave hersel wi ' mense ; I'll say't , she never brak a fence , Thro ' thievish greed . Our Bardie , lanely , keeps the spence Sin ' Mailie's dead ...
... ne'er cam nigh him , Than Mailie dead . I wat she was a sheep o ' sense , An ' could behave hersel wi ' mense ; I'll say't , she never brak a fence , Thro ' thievish greed . Our Bardie , lanely , keeps the spence Sin ' Mailie's dead ...
Strana 14
... er I spend , Are spent amang the lasses , O ! THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han ' , In ev'ry hour that passes , O ... ne'er enjoy them , O , Green grow , & c . But gie me a canny hour at e'en , My 14 SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS ...
... er I spend , Are spent amang the lasses , O ! THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han ' , In ev'ry hour that passes , O ... ne'er enjoy them , O , Green grow , & c . But gie me a canny hour at e'en , My 14 SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
amang Auld Lang Syne Ayrshire banks bard beautiful Birks of Aberfeldy blaw blythe bonnie braes braw Burns wrote Burns's Charles Kingsley charm chorus Cotter's Saturday Night Cunningham Currie Dainty Davie dear Deil Doon Douglas Dumfries e'en Edinburgh EPISTLE Ev'n ev'ry fair Farewell Fergusson flowers frae Gala Water glen hame heart Heaven Highland Mary hills honest Jean John John Stuart Blackie Johnson's Museum Kilmarnock lass lassie Lord lyric mair Mauchline maun monie morning Mossgiel mourn Muse nature ne'er never Nith o'er owre passion pleasure poem poet poet's poetry poor Professor Blackie rhyme Robert Burns sang says Scotch Scotland Scottish Shairp Shanter sing song soul stanza Stopford Brooke sweet Tarbolton thee Thomson Thomson's Coll thou thro TUNE unco verses wander weel Whyles Willie Willie's wind Wordsworth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 57 - Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain. These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art.
Strana 83 - Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth...
Strana 154 - OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi
Strana 112 - mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane.
Strana 106 - I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash : He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! I see how folk live that hae riches ; But surely poor folk maun be wretches ? LUATII.
Strana 80 - MY lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays : With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end; My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. November chill blaws loud wi...
Strana 68 - But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an
Strana 111 - WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem. To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonie Lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Strana 157 - For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne.
Strana 86 - An honest man's the noblest work of God;" And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp?