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an'a auld auld kirk-yard baith began believe Beneath better blessed blest bonnie bosom bright cause chiel cried dark dear death door Dundee earth ended fair Father's fear feel frae friends gang give grave guid ha'e hame hand happy head heard heart heaven hills hope humble ilka It's John keep kind laddie land lass lassie leave live look maun meet mind mony morn mourn nature ne'er never night o'er peace pleasure poems poor rest rose round seemed seen skies smiled songs soon sorrow stand story tears tell thee There's thing thou thought tree true trystin VIII volume wander weary weel ween wind winter yonder young youthful
Strana 3 - And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing The tither stocked raw, Wi' claivers, an haivers, Wearing the day awa : Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast; That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.
Strana 9 - From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; " An honest man's the noblest work of God ;" And, certes,* in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind.
Strana 49 - Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn ? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn...
Strana 20 - Tis but a night, a long and moonless night ; We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.
Strana 59 - I did not think there was so much beauty in a locality so little talked of. Around me lay the hills reposing in quiet grandeur, and before me lay the "Loch of Lindores, which in the calm twilight of a summer's evening appears like the eye of nature looking up to its Maker in the spirit of meek and quiet devotion.
Strana 53 - STIR the beal-fire, wave the banner, Bid the thundering cannon sound, Rend the skies with acclamation, Stun the woods and waters round, Till the echoes of our gathering Turn the world's admiring gaze To this act of duteous homage Scotland to her Poet pays. Fill the banks and braes with music, Be it loud and low by turns — That we owe the deathless glory, This the hapless fate of Burns.
Strana 142 - An' those that used to meet us there We'll think on many a year. Iv. Now let us hope our years may be As guid as they ha'e been : Let's hope we ne'er again will see The sorrows we hae seen ; An