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Reliques of Robert Burns: Consisting Chiefly of Original Letters, Poems, and ...
Úplné zobrazenie - 1808
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Strana 13 - That sings upon the bough ; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings beside thy mate ; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon To see the woodbine twine, And ilka bird sang o' its love ; And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'da rose, Frae aff its thorny tree ; And my fause luver staw the rose, But left the thorn wi
Strana 173 - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Strana 171 - Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie The boat rocks at the pier o...
Strana 12 - Doon, How can ye blume sae fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o
Strana 225 - Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride. Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Strana 213 - mid renewing storms: Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry GOD, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say,
Strana 211 - An' riches still may fly them, O ; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. Green grow, &c. But gie me a canny hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O ; An
Strana 185 - But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, Her sweets no longer with her dwells: But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one. Such fate ere long will thee betide When thou hast handled been awhile, With sere flowers to be thrown aside; And I shall sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love to every one Hath brought thee to be loved by none.