The British Poets: Including Translations ...C. Whittingham, 1822 - Classical poetry |
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Page 8
... pleasure of his father ; a circumstance which sup- plied him with the subject of much subsequent self reproach , and to which he is disposed to attribute much of the irregularity of his after days . He had now attained his twenty ...
... pleasure of his father ; a circumstance which sup- plied him with the subject of much subsequent self reproach , and to which he is disposed to attribute much of the irregularity of his after days . He had now attained his twenty ...
Page 10
... pleasures of a tavern , hurried him into discoveries of his senti- ments on some of those great political topics which then agitated the public passions . By incautiously avowing himself too friendly to the principles of the French ...
... pleasures of a tavern , hurried him into discoveries of his senti- ments on some of those great political topics which then agitated the public passions . By incautiously avowing himself too friendly to the principles of the French ...
Page 15
... pleasure : His hair , his size , his mouth , his lugs , Shew'd he was nane o ' Scotland's dogs ; But whalpit some place far abroad , Where sailors gang to fish for Cod . His locked , letter'd , braw brass collar , Shew'd him the ...
... pleasure : His hair , his size , his mouth , his lugs , Shew'd he was nane o ' Scotland's dogs ; But whalpit some place far abroad , Where sailors gang to fish for Cod . His locked , letter'd , braw brass collar , Shew'd him the ...
Page 21
... pleasure ! Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them , The vera thought o't needna fear them . CESAR . Lord , man , were ye but whyles whare I am , The gentles ye wad ne'er envy ' em . It's true , they needna starve or sweat , Thro ...
... pleasure ! Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them , The vera thought o't needna fear them . CESAR . Lord , man , were ye but whyles whare I am , The gentles ye wad ne'er envy ' em . It's true , they needna starve or sweat , Thro ...
Page 62
... damned bodies be ; I'm sure sma ' pleasure it can gie , E'en to a deil , To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me , An ' hear us squeel ! Great is thy pow'r , an ' great thy fame 62 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL . Address to the Deil.
... damned bodies be ; I'm sure sma ' pleasure it can gie , E'en to a deil , To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me , An ' hear us squeel ! Great is thy pow'r , an ' great thy fame 62 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL . Address to the Deil.
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Common terms and phrases
aith amang ance auld baith bard Beneath blast blaw blest bonnie bonnie lasses braw BRIG brunstane Burns cauld charms chiel Cutty-sark dear deil e'en e'er Ellisland Ev'n ev'ry fair fate fear flow'rs frae gien gies grace guid hame haud heart Heav'n himsel honest humble ither John Highlandman joys Kilmarnock labour lasses leuk life's Lord maist maun mind mony mourn muckle muse mutchkin Nae mair Nature's ne'er neebor needna never night noble o'er out-owre owre the sea pleasure plough poet poor pow'r pride rhyme roar Robert Burns round Samson's dead sang sark Scotia's Scotland sing skelpin sugh sweet ta'en tears tell thee thegither There's thou thro TUNE unco weary weel Whare Whistle whyles William Burns wretch Ye'll ye're
Popular passages
Page 147 - 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 and bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care, And " Let us worship God !
Page 158 - 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 pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 146 - But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam' o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak : Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi...
Page 211 - Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises! But to our tale: Ae market night, Tarn had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi...
Page 128 - Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O...
Page 215 - Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah ! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a
Page 159 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Page 147 - The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck fell — An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i
Page 216 - When plundering herds assail their byke ; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When, "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow.
Page 145 - The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an