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aith Amang ance auld baith bard blest blithe bonny braes braw brunstane Burns Burns's canna cauld Cessnock charms Coilsfield dear deil dinna e'en e'er Epistle fair fate fear Ferintosh fickle Fortune frae Gavin Hamilton grace guid Halloween heart Heaven herds Highland lassie honour ither John Barleycorn John Highlandman Kilmarnock Laird lass lassie Lord Mailie Mary Mauchline maun mind mony Mossgiel mourn muckle Muse nae mair ne'er never night o'er Oh Thou out-owre owre Peggy pleasure plough poem poet poetic poor pride rhyme Robert Burns rustic sang says Scotch Scotland Scottish sing skelpin sodger song stanza sweet ta'en tell tempests storming thee thegither There's thought Torbolton Tune twa glancing sparkling unco verse wander weary weel Whare Whyles ye hae Ye'll ye're young
Page 257 - 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 floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Page 258 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er. " Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven.
Page 139 - See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful though a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn.
Page 142 - My loved, my honored, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah!
Page 32 - The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison.
Page 276 - My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Page 144 - An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a
Page 150 - Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's every grace...