The poetical works of Robert Burns, ed. by W.M. Rossetti. ed. by W.M. Rosetti [sic].

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Macmillan, 1879
 

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第 38 頁 - And sage experience bids me this declare — 'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
第 348 頁 - 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.
第 446 頁 - Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
第 179 頁 - But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ! Or like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever ; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can pomt their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide ; The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; That hour, o...
第 89 頁 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is...
第 406 頁 - 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
第 336 頁 - 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?
第 180 頁 - Nick, in shape o' beast ; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge : He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a
第 86 頁 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, '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.
第 38 頁 - The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride. His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And " Let us worship God !

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