The Works of Robert Burns: With an Account of His Life, and a Criticism on His Writings; to which are Prefixed, Some Observations on the Character and Condition of the Scottish Peasantry, 3 tomasF. Lucas, jun. and J. Cushing, 1815 |
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Works of Robert Burns– With an Account of His Life, and a ..., 3 tomas Robert Burns Visos knygos peržiūra - 1815 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
aith amang auld baith bard birks of Aberfeldy blate blaw blest blythe bonnie bonnie lasses bosom braes braw Brig bright brunstane burn charms claut dear death deil dimin e'en e'er Ev'n ev'ry fair fate flow'rs frae gang gies glen grace guid hame heart Heav'n Highland honest honour ilka ither John Anderson John Barleycorn Kilmarnock lasses lassie luve maun mony morn mourn muckle muse mutchkin nae mair ne'er never night o'er owre pleasure plough poem poet poor pow'r pride rhyme roar ROBERT BURNS Samson's dead scene Scotland sing skelpin song soul sugh sweet Syne tear tell thee thegither There's thou thro Tune unco weary weel Whare whistle Whyles wild wind winna wretch ye'll ye're
Populiarios ištraukos
104 psl. - They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps ' Dundee's ' wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive *• Martyrs...
101 psl. - An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun', Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu...
105 psl. - 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.
104 psl. - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme: How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How his first followers and servants sped — The precepts sage they wrote to many a land; How he, who, lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command.
256 psl. - MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June : O, my luve's like the melodie 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
149 psl. - And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise ; For if you do but taste his blood, Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy : 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho
109 psl. - Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn ? Or why has man the will and pow'r To make his fellow mourn...
182 psl. - And win the keystane of the brig; There, at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross! But ere the keystane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
111 psl. - mid renewing storms. Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ; Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, Forgive my foul offence...
182 psl. - And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main, Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither And roars out 'Weel done, Cutty-sark!' And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop!