The Works of Robert Burns, Zväzok 2A. Fullarton and Company, 1841 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 40.
Strana 7
... flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale , The pride of my bosom , my Mary's no more . No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander , And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; No more shall my arms cling with ...
... flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale , The pride of my bosom , my Mary's no more . No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander , And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; No more shall my arms cling with ...
Strana 21
... flower stem shall bloom like my sweet seraph fair , Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom , When thou shrunk frae the scoul of the loud winter storm , And nestled thee close to that bosom . O still I behold thee , all lovely in death ...
... flower stem shall bloom like my sweet seraph fair , Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom , When thou shrunk frae the scoul of the loud winter storm , And nestled thee close to that bosom . O still I behold thee , all lovely in death ...
Strana 32
... flower that lifts its head , elate , Helpless , must fall before the blasts of fate , Sunk on the earth , defac'd its lovely form , Unless your shelter ward th ' impending storm . Our second Right - but needless here is caution , To ...
... flower that lifts its head , elate , Helpless , must fall before the blasts of fate , Sunk on the earth , defac'd its lovely form , Unless your shelter ward th ' impending storm . Our second Right - but needless here is caution , To ...
Strana 38
... flower . ) Since life's gay scenes must charm no more , Still much is left behind ; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store , The comforts of the mind ! Thine is the self - approving glow , On conscious honour's part ; And , dearest gift ...
... flower . ) Since life's gay scenes must charm no more , Still much is left behind ; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store , The comforts of the mind ! Thine is the self - approving glow , On conscious honour's part ; And , dearest gift ...
Strana 42
... flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier . We'll search through the garden for each silly flower , We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed ; But chiefly the nettle , so typical , shower , For none e'er approach'd her but rued ...
... flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier . We'll search through the garden for each silly flower , We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed ; But chiefly the nettle , so typical , shower , For none e'er approach'd her but rued ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
Abergeldy ain dear Amang auld baith ballad Banff banks bard barley bree Birks Birks of Aberfeldy blaw blest Bonnie lassie bonnie Mary bonny Dundee bosom braes braw breast Buchan Burns charms collier laddie daunton dearest death Donald Browns Donald Macpherson e'en e'er earl Eppie fair Farewell flowers frae gang girdin o't glancin glen green gude hame heart Heaven Highland hoggie ilka James Macpherson Jean John Anderson John Barleycorn kiss lass lo'es Lord luve Macpherson mair Mauchline maun merry mony Nannie ne'er never night o'er old song owre painful plough Peter Brown plough ploughman poet poet's posie ROBERT BURNS says Scotland Scottish sing sparklin stanza sweet tear thee There's thou thro Tune Tune-"The verses weary weel wife Willie wind ye'll yon town young
Populárne pasáže
Strana 151 - 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' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Strana 268 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Strana 146 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Strana 224 - 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
Strana 253 - Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 256.
Strana 269 - Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender ; And pledging aft to meet again We tore oursels asunder ; But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay That wraps my Highland Mary.
Strana 134 - Glen? My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; But wha can think sae o...
Strana 252 - Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Strana 234 - I'll wage thee! Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of Hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever.
Strana 90 - Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool? Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng?