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amang arms auld banks bard beneath blast bonie BURNS'S POEMS charms dead dear death Ev'n ev'ry face fair faith fate father fear feel flow'rs frae give grace green guid hand head hear heart Heav'n hills honest honor hope hour kind lasses light live look Lord mair mark maun meet mind monie morn mourn Muse Nature ne'er never night o'er owre peace pleasure poet poor pride rest rhyme roar round scenes sing song soul spring stream sweet tear tell thee There's thou thought thro Till TUNE weary weel wild wind worth wretch ye'll young به
第 229 頁 - Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev"n to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew ; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark ! Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o...
第 316 頁 - 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 81 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!
第 82 頁 - With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
第 189 頁 - But to conclude my silly rhyme, (I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) To make a happy fire-side clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life.
第 80 頁 - O, happy love ! where love like this is found ; O, heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 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 452 頁 - Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O : Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man, An
第 224 頁 - Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tarn o...