The works of Robert Burns; with an account of his life, and a criticism on his writings, Volume 1
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WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS W/AN ACC
Robert 1759-1796 Burns,James 1756-1805 Currie
No preview available - 2016
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acquaintance affections afterwards appears attention banks bard beautiful brother Burns called character circumstances conduct continued conversation copies course Dumfries early Edinburgh engaged English equal excel expected expression farm father feelings formed gave genius Gilbert give given habits hand happiness heart hope human imagination impression improvement instruction interesting John kind knowledge labour lady language letter lived London manners means meet mentioned mind muse nature necessary never night objects observations original particularly passed perhaps period persons pleasure poems poet poetry powers present produced proper reason received render respect Robert scenes Scotland Scottish seemed sensibility sentiments situation society sometimes songs soon spirit strength talents taste thing thought tion took verses wish writing written young
Page 87 - Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise. In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Page 86 - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay his head; How his first followers and servants sped: The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then, kneeling down to heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope springs...
Page 86 - 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.
Page 87 - And proffer up to heaven the warm request, That HE who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide, But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.
Page 49 - Poesy was still a darling walk for my mind, but it was only indulged in according to the humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more pieces on hand; I took up one or other, as it suited the momentary tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered, on fatigue. My passions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they got vent in rhyme; and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet!
Page 85 - 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 !
Page 43 - ... promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him away, to where the wicked cease from troubling and where the weary are at rest!
Page 45 - The great misfortune of my life was — to want an aim. I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls of his cave.
Page 254 - 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.
Page 301 - 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' yon den, Ev'n for your sake ! THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.