Robert Burns: As a Poet, and as a ManBaker and Scribner, 1848 - 209 páginas |
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Página 39
... Scottish life heard the sweet strains of his lyre , coming up from the lowly scenes of the peasant's cottage , they turned their ears to catch the ravishing strains , and their hearts , kindling into sympathy , be- gan to feel that all ...
... Scottish life heard the sweet strains of his lyre , coming up from the lowly scenes of the peasant's cottage , they turned their ears to catch the ravishing strains , and their hearts , kindling into sympathy , be- gan to feel that all ...
Página 43
... Scottish history , as this incident from Scottish literature . The Grampian hills could sooner perish , than these beautiful monuments which Burns has erected to the memory of the being whom of all God's creatures , he loved most dearly ...
... Scottish history , as this incident from Scottish literature . The Grampian hills could sooner perish , than these beautiful monuments which Burns has erected to the memory of the being whom of all God's creatures , he loved most dearly ...
Página 64
... represen- tation of the Devil . He makes a Scottish devil of him . He is not the Satan of Milton . He is not the Mephistophiles of Goethe . He is altogether unique . It is true you recognize in him the roaring lion 74 ROBERT BURNS .
... represen- tation of the Devil . He makes a Scottish devil of him . He is not the Satan of Milton . He is not the Mephistophiles of Goethe . He is altogether unique . It is true you recognize in him the roaring lion 74 ROBERT BURNS .
Página 67
... Scottish town . And who does not see , with his very eyes , Tam's wife Kate ? " Gath'rin ' her brows like gath'rin ' storm , Nursin ' her wrath to keep it warm . " And the portrait of Tam is a living reality : " A bletherin ...
... Scottish town . And who does not see , with his very eyes , Tam's wife Kate ? " Gath'rin ' her brows like gath'rin ' storm , Nursin ' her wrath to keep it warm . " And the portrait of Tam is a living reality : " A bletherin ...
Página 74
... represen- tation of the Devil . He makes a Scottish devil of him . He is not the Satan of Milton . He is not the Mephistophiles of Goethe . He is altogether unique . It is true you recognize in him the roaring lion 74 ROBERT BURNS .
... represen- tation of the Devil . He makes a Scottish devil of him . He is not the Satan of Milton . He is not the Mephistophiles of Goethe . He is altogether unique . It is true you recognize in him the roaring lion 74 ROBERT BURNS .
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Termos e frases comuns
acquaintance Allan Ramsay ambition ancient associations awakened beauty bliss bosom breathes Burns's character charms conversation criticism divine Duchess of Gordon Dugald Stewart Earl of Glencairn Edinburgh elements Ellisland embodied English expression exquisite fame fancy father feeling felt flowers frae genius give Glencairn 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 night noble o'er O'Shanter objects peasant peculiar Pietro Perugino pleasure poem poet poetic poetry rhyme Robert Burns satire says scene Scotland Scots Scots College Scottish Scottish literature seen sentiments songs soul spirit stream sweet sympathy Tam O'Shanter taste tender thing Thomson thou thought thro tion touch truth tune ture verses whole Whyles woman write written youth
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Página 54 - The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain For promis'd joy! Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But, och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an
Página 80 - 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.
Página 169 - 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.
Página 79 - 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.
Página 79 - Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human.
Página 164 - 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.
Página 28 - 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...
Página 20 - 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.
Página 70 - And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling...
Página 20 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, 'Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i