The Poetical Works of Robert Burns: With a Sketch of the Author's Life, Volume 1

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Little, Brown, 1864
 

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Page 146 - 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.
Page 125 - I'm truly sorry man's dominion. Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An...
Page 229 - 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...
Page 357 - Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Page 228 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 126 - 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' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Page 140 - 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 power To make his fellow mourn ? Yet, let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human kind..
Page 146 - Scotia's holy lays: Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With...
Page 64 - 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 138 - MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. j|HEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening, as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man, whose aged step Seemed weary, worn with care ; His face was furrowed o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? Began the reverend sage ; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage?

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