Critical and Miscellaneous Essays, Том 2

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Carey and Hart, 1842
 

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Стр. 354 - Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Стр. 353 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Стр. 345 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire...
Стр. 288 - He giveth His beloved sleep." For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose Who giveth His beloved sleep. And friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one most loving of you all, Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall ! He giveth His beloved sleep.
Стр. 357 - O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly : And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.
Стр. 34 - Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares, The Poets, who on earth have made us Heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
Стр. 352 - 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'?
Стр. 349 - Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear : Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Стр. 157 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Стр. 362 - Ae fareweel, alas! for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee! Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

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