The Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Band 2

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Macmillan, 1865 - 445 Seiten
 

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Seite 248 - O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Seite 156 - That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a
Seite 166 - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands...
Seite 137 - John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Seite 208 - Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that ! What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man, for a
Seite 149 - Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed — never to return. Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o
Seite 205 - But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary...
Seite 133 - I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air : There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o
Seite 71 - Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career Wild as the wave ; Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame ; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stained his name ! Reader, attend — whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit...
Seite 137 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.

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