Poems, chiefly in the Scottish dialect1824 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 23.
Strana xi
... mourn . 137 Prayer in the Prospect of Death 140 Stanzas on the same Occasion 141 Verses left at the House of a Reverend Friend The First Psalm 142 143 Prayer , under the Pressure of violent Anguish The first Six Verses of the Nineteenth ...
... mourn . 137 Prayer in the Prospect of Death 140 Stanzas on the same Occasion 141 Verses left at the House of a Reverend Friend The First Psalm 142 143 Prayer , under the Pressure of violent Anguish The first Six Verses of the Nineteenth ...
Strana 59
... mourn my wofu ' case ! My dying words attentive hear , An ' bear them to my Master dear . ' Tell him , if e'er again he keep , As muckle gear as buy a sheep , O bid him never tie them mair Wi ' wicked strings o ' hemp or hair ! But ca ...
... mourn my wofu ' case ! My dying words attentive hear , An ' bear them to my Master dear . ' Tell him , if e'er again he keep , As muckle gear as buy a sheep , O bid him never tie them mair Wi ' wicked strings o ' hemp or hair ! But ca ...
Strana 61
... mourning weed : He's lost a friend and neebor dear , In Mailie dead . Thro ' a ' the toun she trotted by him ; A lang half - mile she could descry him ; Wi ' kindly bleat , when she did spy him , She ran wi ' speed : A friend mair ...
... mourning weed : He's lost a friend and neebor dear , In Mailie dead . Thro ' a ' the toun she trotted by him ; A lang half - mile she could descry him ; Wi ' kindly bleat , when she did spy him , She ran wi ' speed : A friend mair ...
Strana 80
... mourn thy fate is hard , Thus poorly low ! I come to give thee such reward < As we bestow . ' Know , the great genius of this land Has many a light , aërial band , Who , all beneath his high command , Harmoniously , As arts or arms they ...
... mourn thy fate is hard , Thus poorly low ! I come to give thee such reward < As we bestow . ' Know , the great genius of this land Has many a light , aërial band , Who , all beneath his high command , Harmoniously , As arts or arms they ...
Strana 88
... mourning weed ; To death , she's dearly paid the kane , Tam Samson's dead ! The brethren of the mystic level May hing their head in woefu ' bevel , While by their nose the tears will revel , Like ony bead ; Death's gien the lodge an ...
... mourning weed ; To death , she's dearly paid the kane , Tam Samson's dead ! The brethren of the mystic level May hing their head in woefu ' bevel , While by their nose the tears will revel , Like ony bead ; Death's gien the lodge an ...
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aith amaist amang auld baith bard beneath blate blest bonnie braw Brig bright brunstane cauld Claut Crunt Curchie Cutty-sark dear deil dimin e'en e'er Ev'n ev'ry fair fate flow'rs frae gang gaun gien gies grace guid hame haud hear heart Heav'n himsel honest honour humble ither John Barleycorn JOHN SHARPE Kennin Kilmarnock lasses maun monie mourn muckle Muse mutchkin Nae mair Nature's ne'er neebor needna never night noble o'er Out-owre owre the sea pleasure plough poet poor Poussie pow'r pride rhyme roar round rustic Samson's dead sark scenes Scotch Scotia's Scotland Scottish sing skelpin Snowkit stane sugh sweet ta'en tear tell thee thegither There's thou thro unco Wastrie weary weel Whare Whistle Whyles wild winds wretch Ye'll ye're
Populárne pasáže
Strana 132 - If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale.
Strana 134 - Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," 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.
Strana 133 - 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.
Strana 135 - And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with Grace Divine preside.
Strana 108 - Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O...
Strana 131 - But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam' o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak : Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi...
Strana 147 - Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! Unskillful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink.
Strana 209 - Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious : The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a...
Strana 166 - I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like, by chance, An' hae to learning nae pretence, Yet, what the matter? Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your...
Strana 130 - 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. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree : Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an