The poems of Robert Burns. (Bell and Daldy's pocket vols.). |
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amang ance arms auld Bard bear Beneath better blast blow called dead dear death drink e'en e'er ev'ry face fair faith fame fate fear fire follow frae give grace guid hand head hear heart Heaven hills honest honour hope hour I'll John kind lasses lies light live Lord mair mark maun meet mind monie morn mourn Muse Nature ne'er never night o'er owre pleasure Poet poor pride race rest rhyme roar round Scotland sense side sing soul spring sweet tears tell thee There's thing thou thought Till tune turn unco weary weel whistle Whyles wild wind worth ye'll young
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 204 - 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 they been queans A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o...
Seite 130 - 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 Bab'lon'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...
Seite 127 - 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 ; Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi...
Seite 203 - Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; Five scimitars wi' murder crusted ; A garter, which a babe had strangled ; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o...
Seite 129 - 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 !
Seite 130 - 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.
Seite 200 - The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growing better : The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious : The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Seite 201 - The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The Landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious: The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy, As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,...
Seite 202 - The doubling storm roars thro' the woods, The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll, When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze, Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
Seite 126 - My loved, my honoured, much respected friend ! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride I scorn each selfish end: My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah!
Bibliografische Informationen
| Titel | The poems of Robert Burns. (Bell and Daldy's pocket vols.). |
| Autor/in | Robert Burns |
| Veröffentlicht | 1863 |
| Original von | Oxford University |
| Digitalisiert | 3. Aug. 2006 |
| Zitat exportieren | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |