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amang ance arms auld bard Beneath better blest bonnie braw BRIG comes dead dear death draw drink e'er ev'ry Ev’n face fair faith fate fear frae gies grace guid hand head hear heart hills honest hope hour human humble keep kind lasses light live Lord mair maun meet mind monie morn mourn Muse ne'er never night noble o'er owre pleasure poet poor pow'r pride race rest rhyme round Scotland side simple Sing soul sure sweet tears tell thee There's thou thought thro true tuneful unco weary weel whistle Whyles wild winds worth wretch young youth
Seite 143 - 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 !
Seite 156 - ... 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
Seite 170 - O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us And foolish notion: What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n Devotion I ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH.
Seite 126 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Seite 145 - While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart ! The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; And in his book of life the inmates poor enroll.
Seite 143 - 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...
Seite 141 - 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
Seite 211 - 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
Seite 208 - Tam skelpit on thro" dub and mire, Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares; Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro...