The Works of Robert Burns, Zväzok 2A. Fullarton and Company, 1841 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 62.
Strana 3
... frae grammar - school or college . Guid troth , your saul and body baith War ' better fed , I'd gie my aith , Than theirs , who sup sour - milk and parritch , And bummil thro ' the single caritch . Wha ever heard the ploughman speak ...
... frae grammar - school or college . Guid troth , your saul and body baith War ' better fed , I'd gie my aith , Than theirs , who sup sour - milk and parritch , And bummil thro ' the single caritch . Wha ever heard the ploughman speak ...
Strana 4
... frae ither ; Yet proud I am to ca ' ye brither . Your most obedt . E. S. TO THE GUIDWIFE O ' WAUCHOPE HOUSE . GUIDWIFE , I MIND it weel , in early date , When I was beardless , young , and blate , And first could thresh the barn , Or ...
... frae ither ; Yet proud I am to ca ' ye brither . Your most obedt . E. S. TO THE GUIDWIFE O ' WAUCHOPE HOUSE . GUIDWIFE , I MIND it weel , in early date , When I was beardless , young , and blate , And first could thresh the barn , Or ...
Strana 15
... frae me , wi ' chiels be cautious , For , faith , they'll aiblins fin ' them fashious : To grant a heart is fairly civil , But to grant a maidenhead's the devil.- And lastly , Jamie , for yoursel , May guardian angels tak a spell , And ...
... frae me , wi ' chiels be cautious , For , faith , they'll aiblins fin ' them fashious : To grant a heart is fairly civil , But to grant a maidenhead's the devil.- And lastly , Jamie , for yoursel , May guardian angels tak a spell , And ...
Strana 21
... frae the scoul of the loud winter storm , And nestled thee close to that bosom . O still I behold thee , all lovely in death , Reclined on the lap of thy mother , When the tear trickled bright , when the short stifled breath , Told how ...
... frae the scoul of the loud winter storm , And nestled thee close to that bosom . O still I behold thee , all lovely in death , Reclined on the lap of thy mother , When the tear trickled bright , when the short stifled breath , Told how ...
Strana 22
... questionable marks of the characteristic genius of Burns , although it can by no means be reckoned among his happiest efforts . - M . But Gude preserve us frae the gallows , That shamefu 22 WORKS OF BURNS . 723 + Adam A's Prayer.
... questionable marks of the characteristic genius of Burns , although it can by no means be reckoned among his happiest efforts . - M . But Gude preserve us frae the gallows , That shamefu 22 WORKS OF BURNS . 723 + Adam A's Prayer.
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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?