Poems, chiefly in the Scottish dialect1824 |
No grāmatas satura
1.5. rezultāts no 34.
vi. lappuse
... tell the world that I glory in the title . I come to congratulate my Country , that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your courage , knowledge , and public spirit , she may expect protection ...
... tell the world that I glory in the title . I come to congratulate my Country , that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your courage , knowledge , and public spirit , she may expect protection ...
7. lappuse
... tell what new taxation's comin , An ' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on . As bleak - fac'd Hallowmass returns , They get the jovial , ranting kirns , When rural life , o ' ev'ry station , Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks , Wit slaps ...
... tell what new taxation's comin , An ' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on . As bleak - fac'd Hallowmass returns , They get the jovial , ranting kirns , When rural life , o ' ev'ry station , Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks , Wit slaps ...
9. lappuse
... tell me , Master Cæsar , Sure great folk's life's a life o ' pleasure ! Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them , The vera thought o't needna fear them . CÆSAR . L ― d , man , were ye but whyles whare I am , The gentles ye wad ne'er ...
... tell me , Master Cæsar , Sure great folk's life's a life o ' pleasure ! Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them , The vera thought o't needna fear them . CÆSAR . L ― d , man , were ye but whyles whare I am , The gentles ye wad ne'er ...
14. lappuse
... tell , Poor plackless devils like mysel ! It sets you ill , Wi ' bitter , dearthfu ' wines to mell , Or foreign gill . May gravels round his blather wrench , An ' gouts torment him inch by inch , Wha twists his gruntle wi ' a glunch O ...
... tell , Poor plackless devils like mysel ! It sets you ill , Wi ' bitter , dearthfu ' wines to mell , Or foreign gill . May gravels round his blather wrench , An ' gouts torment him inch by inch , Wha twists his gruntle wi ' a glunch O ...
16. lappuse
... Tell them wha hae the chief direction , Scotland an ' me's in great affliction , E'er sin ' they laid that curst restriction On Aquavitæ ; An ' rouse them up to strong conviction , An ' move their pity . Stand forth , an ' tell yon ...
... Tell them wha hae the chief direction , Scotland an ' me's in great affliction , E'er sin ' they laid that curst restriction On Aquavitæ ; An ' rouse them up to strong conviction , An ' move their pity . Stand forth , an ' tell yon ...
Citi izdevumi - Skatīt visu
Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect: The Luath Kilmarnock Edition Robert Burns Priekšskatījums nav pieejams - 2015 |
Bieži izmantoti vārdi un frāzes
aith amaist amang auld baith bard beneath blate blest bonnie braw Brig bright brunstane cauld Claut Crunt Curchie Cutty-sark dear deil dimin e'en e'er Ev'n ev'ry fair fate flow'rs frae gang gaun gien gies grace guid hame haud hear heart Heav'n himsel honest honour humble ither John Barleycorn JOHN SHARPE Kennin Kilmarnock lasses maun monie mourn muckle Muse mutchkin Nae mair Nature's ne'er neebor needna never night noble o'er Out-owre owre the sea pleasure plough poet poor Poussie pow'r pride rhyme roar round rustic Samson's dead sark scenes Scotch Scotia's Scotland Scottish sing skelpin Snowkit stane sugh sweet ta'en tear tell thee thegither There's thou thro unco Wastrie weary weel Whare Whistle Whyles wild winds wretch Ye'll ye're
Populāri fragmenti
132. lappuse - If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale.
134. lappuse - 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.
133. lappuse - The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or, how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or, Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry ; Or, rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
135. lappuse - And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with Grace Divine preside.
108. lappuse - Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O...
131. lappuse - But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam' o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak : Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi...
147. lappuse - Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! Unskillful 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, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink.
209. lappuse - Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious : The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a...
166. lappuse - I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like, by chance, An' hae to learning nae pretence, Yet, what the matter? Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your...
130. lappuse - The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree : Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an