Carlyle's Essay on Burns: With The Cotter's Saturday Night, and Other Poems from Burns

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Macmillan, 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 136 - 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 153 - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS 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 110 - While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 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...
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 125 - Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 0 what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi
Page 141 - Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o
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 48 - There is a piercing wail in his sorrow, the purest rapture in his joy; he burns with the sternest ire, or laughs with the loudest or sliest mirth ; and yet he is sweet and soft, 'sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, and soft as their parting tear...
Page 143 - CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. For auld, &c. We twa hae paidl't i...

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