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amang appears auld banks bard better bonny brother Burns called charms comes dead dear death early face fair faith fate fear feeling fortune frae grace guid hand head hear heart Heaven Highland hills honest honour hope hour I'll John kind lass leave light live look Lord mair mark maun meet mind monie morning mourn Muse Nature ne'er never night o'er owre pleasure poem poet poor pride rest roar round Scotland sing song soul spring sweet tear tell thee There's thing thou thought Till TUNE turn verses wander weel wild wind wish Ye'll young
Seite 148 - 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 149 - 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. 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,...
Seite 200 - I forget the hallowed grove where by the winding Ayr we met, to live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface those records dear of transports past; thy image at our last embrace — ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, o'erhung with wild woods...
Seite 150 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Seite 146 - 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 150 - Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's...
Seite 277 - There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes; Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Seite 257 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward 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 18 - Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine ! Thou Power Supreme whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm I rest ; they must be best.