Poems, chiefly in the Scottish dialect1824 |
No interior do livro
Resultados 1-5 de 27
Página 42
... beneath the silver beam , Crept , gently - crusting , owre the glittering stream.- When , lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard , The clanging sugh o ' whistling wings is heard ; Twa dusky forms dart thro ' the midnight air , Swift as ...
... beneath the silver beam , Crept , gently - crusting , owre the glittering stream.- When , lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard , The clanging sugh o ' whistling wings is heard ; Twa dusky forms dart thro ' the midnight air , Swift as ...
Página 46
... beneath their feet : While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung , And soul - ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung . O had M'Lauchlan3 , thairm - inspiring Sage , Been there to hear this heavenly band engage , When thro ' his dear ...
... beneath their feet : While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung , And soul - ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung . O had M'Lauchlan3 , thairm - inspiring Sage , Been there to hear this heavenly band engage , When thro ' his dear ...
Página 67
... Beneath what light she has remaining , Let's sing our sang . My pen I here fling to the door , And kneel , ' Ye Pow'rs ! ' and warm implore , " Tho ' I should wander terra o'er , In all her climes , Grant me but this , I ask no more ...
... Beneath what light she has remaining , Let's sing our sang . My pen I here fling to the door , And kneel , ' Ye Pow'rs ! ' and warm implore , " Tho ' I should wander terra o'er , In all her climes , Grant me but this , I ask no more ...
Página 68
... beneath misfortune's blows As weel's I may ; Sworn foe to sorrow , care , and prose , I rhyme away . O ye douce folk , that live by rule , Grave , tideless - blooded , calm , and cool , Compar'd wi ' you - O fool ! fool ! fool ! How ...
... beneath misfortune's blows As weel's I may ; Sworn foe to sorrow , care , and prose , I rhyme away . O ye douce folk , that live by rule , Grave , tideless - blooded , calm , and cool , Compar'd wi ' you - O fool ! fool ! fool ! How ...
Página 70
... beneath your wing , Is e'en right reft an ' clouted , And now the third part of the string , An ' less , will gang about it Than did ae day . V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your legislation , Or say , ye wisdom want , or ...
... beneath your wing , Is e'en right reft an ' clouted , And now the third part of the string , An ' less , will gang about it Than did ae day . V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your legislation , Or say , ye wisdom want , or ...
Outras edições - Ver tudo
Palavras e frases frequentes
aith amaist amang auld baith bard beneath blate blest bonnie braw Brig bright brunstane cauld Claut Crunt Curchie Cutty-sark dear deil dimin e'en e'er Ev'n ev'ry fair fate flow'rs frae gang gaun gien gies grace guid hame haud hear heart Heav'n himsel honest honour humble ither John Barleycorn JOHN SHARPE Kennin Kilmarnock lasses maun monie 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 Poussie pow'r pride rhyme roar round rustic Samson's dead sark scenes Scotch Scotia's Scotland Scottish sing skelpin Snowkit stane sugh sweet ta'en tear tell thee thegither There's thou thro unco Wastrie weary weel Whare Whistle Whyles wild winds wretch Ye'll ye're
Passagens conhecidas
Página 132 - 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 ev'ning gale.
Página 134 - 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.
Página 133 - The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or, how the royal bard did groaning lie 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.
Página 135 - And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with Grace Divine preside.
Página 108 - 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...
Página 131 - 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...
Página 147 - Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! Unskillful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink.
Página 209 - 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 himsel 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, O'er a...
Página 166 - I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like, by chance, An' hae to learning nae pretence, Yet, what the matter? Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your...
Página 130 - The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn cotter frae his labor 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 thro' To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an