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amang appear arms auld banks bard beneath blast bonnie called charms dead dear death face fair fate father fear fire flowers frae give grace guid ha'e hand head hear heart Heaven Highland hills honest honour hope hour I'll John kind land lass light live look Lord lost mair mark meet mind mony morn mourn Muse ne'er never night o'er owre pleasure Poet poor pride rest roar round scenes Scotland sing song soul spring strains stream sweet tears tell thee There's thou thought Till Tune turned VERSES wander weary weel wild wind winter wish worth WRITTEN young
Página 425 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi
Página 25 - Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain. These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art.
Página 315 - 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...
Página 405 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Página 68 - Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine ! Thou Power Supreme whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm I rest ; they must be best.
Página 324 - 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...
Página 347 - It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor: How...
Página 55 - Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckled breast ! When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east.
Página 49 - Think on the dungeon's grim confine, Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! But shall thy legal rage pursue The wretch, already crushed low, By cruel fortune's undeserved blow? Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! " I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer Shook off the pouthery snaw, And hail'd the morning with a cheer, A cottage-rousing craw. But deep this truth impress'd my mind — Thro' all His works abroad,...