The Works of Robert Burns: With His Life, Volum 1

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Cochrane and McCrone, 1834
 

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Pàgina 238 - THOU lingering 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?
Pàgina 236 - My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe — My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!
Pàgina 84 - With future hope, I oft would gaze, Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, In uncouth rhymes, Fir'd at the simple, artless lays, Of other times. " I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Delighted with the dashing roar ; Or when the north his fleecy store Drove through the sky, I saw grim nature's visage hoar Struck thy young eye. " Or when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'cl ev'ry flow'rets birth, And joy and music pouring forth In ev'ry grove, I saw thee eye the...
Pàgina 90 - 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 clasped 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' nionie a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu...
Pàgina 177 - Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! And aye the saut tear blins her ee : Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me ; For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see ; And by them lies the dearest lad...
Pàgina 165 - Her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought.
Pàgina 106 - 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.
Pàgina 79 - A fig for those by law protected ! Liberty's a glorious feast ! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest.
Pàgina 128 - The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the PLOUGH, and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless notes as she inspired.
Pàgina 196 - A BARD'S EPITAPH. 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, O, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh.

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