Robert Burns: As a Poet, and as a ManBaker and Scribner, 1848 - 209 ページ |
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acquaintance airs Allan Ramsay ambition ancient associations awakened Ayrshire beauty bosom breath Burns's character charms Clarinda conversation criticism divine Duchess of Gordon Dugald Stewart Earl of Glencairn Edinburgh elements Ellisland embodied English expression exquisite fame fancy farm father feel felt flowers frae genius give glory Greek happy harp heart highest honor Hudibras human humble humor ideal impression inspiration labors letter literary literature living look manners Mary Campbell material imagery Mauchline mind moral muse nature never noble o'er O'Shanter objects peasant peculiar pleasure poem poet poetic poetry rhyme Robert Burns satire says scene Scotland Scots Scots College Scottish Scottish literature seen sentiments songs soul spirit strains stream sweet sympathy Tam O'Shanter taste tender theory thing Thomson thou thought thro tion touch truth tune ture verses walk whole Whyles woman write written youth
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90 ページ - O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us And foolish notion : What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n devotion ! EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.
64 ページ - An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
89 ページ - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
44 ページ - What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 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...
179 ページ - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
133 ページ - There was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments ; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, and glowed (I say literally glowed] when he spoke with feeling or interest.
89 ページ - Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human.
174 ページ - We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or structure of our souls, so cannot account for those seeming caprices in them that one should be particularly pleased with this thing, or struck with that, which, on minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the harebell, the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
28 ページ - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
20 ページ - And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green. To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon. Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.