Essay on Burns: With the Cotter's Saturday Night and Other Poems from Burns

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Macmillan Company, 1900 - 186 pages
 

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Page 177 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Page 156 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Page 153 - MY heart's in the Highland's, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Page 136 - An' forward, tho' I canna see, TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786. WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 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 bonie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonie Lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 137 - Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies...
Page 109 - 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. Compar'd with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart...
Page 127 - But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an
Page 156 - Let him follow me ! By oppression's woes and pains By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! — Let us do or die...
Page 35 - I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plover in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry.
Page 158 - Our toils obscure, and a* that ; The rank is but the guinea's stamp ; The man's the gowd for a* that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a

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