The Works of Robert Burns: With an Account of His Life , and a Criticism on His Writing. To which are Prefixed, Some Observations on the Character and Condition of the Scottish Peasantry, Volume 4T. Cadell and W. Davies ; and W. Creech at Edinburgh, 1813 |
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Página vi
... muses of Scotland , and which , if we mistake not , may be safely compared with the lyric poetry of any age or country . The letters of Mr. Burns to Mr. Thomson include the songs he presented to him , some of which appear in different ...
... muses of Scotland , and which , if we mistake not , may be safely compared with the lyric poetry of any age or country . The letters of Mr. Burns to Mr. Thomson include the songs he presented to him , some of which appear in different ...
Página xi
... muse , • XXXIX . Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Bruce to his troops at Bannockburn , " XL . Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Behold the hour , the boat arrive , " XLI . Mr. T. to Mr. B. Observations on " Bruce to his troops , " • 105 • 107 · 110 ...
... muse , • XXXIX . Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Bruce to his troops at Bannockburn , " XL . Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Behold the hour , the boat arrive , " XLI . Mr. T. to Mr. B. Observations on " Bruce to his troops , " • 105 • 107 · 110 ...
Página xii
... Muse immor- tal lives , " presented to Miss Graham of Fintry , with a copy of Mr. Thomson's Collection , • · LIII . Mr. T. to Mr. B. Does not expect to hear from Pleyel soon , but desires to be pre- pared with the poetry , • · · LIV ...
... Muse immor- tal lives , " presented to Miss Graham of Fintry , with a copy of Mr. Thomson's Collection , • · LIII . Mr. T. to Mr. B. Does not expect to hear from Pleyel soon , but desires to be pre- pared with the poetry , • · · LIV ...
Página xxi
... Muse immortal lives How can my poor heart be glad How cold is that bosom which folly once fired . How cruel are the parents • How lang and dreary is the night Husband , husband , cease your strife I call no goddess to inspire my strains ...
... Muse immortal lives How can my poor heart be glad How cold is that bosom which folly once fired . How cruel are the parents • How lang and dreary is the night Husband , husband , cease your strife I call no goddess to inspire my strains ...
Página 3
... of enthu- siasm . Only , don't hurry me : " Deil tak the hindmost , " is by no means the cri de guerre of my muse . Will you , as I am inferior to none you re- of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry B 2 of 3.
... of enthu- siasm . Only , don't hurry me : " Deil tak the hindmost , " is by no means the cri de guerre of my muse . Will you , as I am inferior to none you re- of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry B 2 of 3.
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The Works of Robert Burns: With an Account of His Life , and a ..., Volume 4 Robert Burns Visualização completa - 1813 |
Termos e frases comuns
ae night ain dear Allan Allan Ramsay alter amang anec anither auld lang syne ballad bard beautiful blithe bonnie bosom braes BURNS Caledonia Cauld charming Chloris CHORUS claute Coila Dainty Davie dear Sir dearest dearie Deil delight Dumfries Duncan Gray Ecclefechan Edinburgh English song English verses fair favourite fine air flowers frae Galla Water give glen hame heart heaven Highland John Anderson lass lassie Lassie wi lea-rig Leiger lines lo'es Lord Gregory lover mair Mary maun melodies merit Mill mony muse Museum Nancy Nanie ne'er never o'er Phillis Pindar pleased pleasure Pleyel poet poetry poor Rob Morris Saw ye Scots Scottish singing stanza suit sung sweet syne taste tell thee thine THOMSON thro tune wander wee thing wild Willie wilt thou young JESSIE
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Página 217 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that ; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Página 125 - Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa...
Página 216 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Página 330 - Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream ! HIGHLAND MARY Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o...
Página 41 - It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor: How...
Página 341 - As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun : And I will luve thee still, my Dear, While the sands o
Página 300 - 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...
Página 216 - A man's a man for a' that ; For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that : The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'da lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that : For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a
Página 18 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu...
Página 214 - The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn, They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw; They mind me o...