Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, Volumen1T. Cadell jun. and W. Davies, London; and William Creech, Edinburgh., 1797 - 287 páginas |
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aith Amang ance Auld Brig baith Bard blate bleft bonie braw breaft canna canty cauld cloſe countra Cuifs curfed dear Deil douce e'en e'er Ev'n ev'ry faft fair fhall fide filly fimple fing focial fome fome day foul frae ftan ftane ftill ftrong fweet gang gaun gies guid Halloween hame heart Heav'n honeft Hornbook houſe ither John Barleycorn juft juſt laffes Laigh Kirk Laird laſt lefs leuk loft Mailie dead maun monie muckle muſt mutchkin Nae mair ne'er night o'er out-owre owre pleaſure poor pow'r Profe rhyme rifing ROBERT BURNS ruftic Samfon's dead Scotch Scotland ſee ſhe ſome ſtart Tam Samfon's dead tell thee thegither There's thou thrang thro unco warft weary weel Weft Whare Whiſky Whyles ye'll ye're
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Página 47 - Scripture, They raise a din, that in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on Drink ! it gi'es us mair Than either School or College : It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, It pangs us fou o
Página 161 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord — its various tone, Each spring — its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Página 204 - That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An
Página 37 - UPON a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff the caller air. The rising sun, owre Galston muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin ; The hares were hirplin down the furs, The lav'rocks they were chantin Fu
Página 159 - Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse That still eternal gallop: Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It maks an unco leeway.
Página 217 - It's no in making muckle, mair : It's no in books, it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang ; The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive thro...
Página 191 - Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scar it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night.
Página 204 - An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy. Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear ! An...
Página 106 - An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're think-in', A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', Some luckless hour will send him linkin', To your black pit ; But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin', An cheat you yet. But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — Still hae a stake : I'm wae to think upo...
Página 203 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...