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acquaintance allow appearance beautiful believe character charming compliments composition copy criticism dare DEAR SIR DUNLOP Earl Edinburgh equal existence fancy favour feel fortune genius give grateful hand happy head hear heard heart honest honour hope human humble idea imagination inclosed interest kind lady late leave less letter light live look lord Madam manner March mean meet merit mind Miss muse nature never night notice obliging once opinion perhaps person piece pleased pleasure poem poet poetic poetry poor present reason received respect Scottish seen sent sincerely song soon soul spirit stanzas tell thanks thee thing thou thought tion truly turn verses wish write written young
Seite 239 - Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ; Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.
Seite 59 - No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, 'No storied urn nor animated bust;' This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
Seite 147 - ... in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing! Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the ./Eolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident; or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod...
Seite 147 - I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
Seite 146 - Bagdat in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and, passing from one thought to another, surely, said I, man is but a shadow and life a dream.
Seite 257 - As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
Seite 213 - But to conclude my silly rhyme, (I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) To make a happy fire-side clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life.
Seite 220 - Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?