The poetical works of Robert Burns. [With] (Memoir of Burns, by sir H. Nicolas).

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Page 152 - The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The sire turns o'er, wi...
Page 129 - An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green ! An bleak December's winds ensuin" Baith snell an' keen ! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste 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...
Page 129 - An' cranreuch cauld ! But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an
Page 93 - 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.
Page 155 - ... simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ; Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro...
Page 166 - mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckl'd breast ! When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane.
Page 136 - And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest...
Page 238 - Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonie lasses).
Page lxvii - The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame ; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name ! Reader, attend ! whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit ; Know, prudent, cautious, self-control Is wisdom's root.
Page 244 - Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark! Now, Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen!

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