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BEAUTIES OF POETRY beneath blest blooming Bolus bosom breast breeze charms cheek cold cottage dead death dread ev’ning ev’ry fair FAKENHAM fate fears feet flow’rs Frae gloom glow Goody Blake green grove hand Harry Gill hear heard heart heav'n hill holy horrid hour human I’ve infant John Barleycorn Lady life’s light live lonely lov’d lyre maid Martha Ray maun moon morn moss mountain mournful muse Nature’s night o'er oh misery pain pale pass'd peace poor pow'r round scene seem'd shade sigh silent sing sink smiling snow soft song sorrow soul storm stream sun declines sweet tale tear tell tempest thee thorn thou thought thro trembling truth turn’d Twas Twill vale voice Watch watch'd ween weep wild William Burns wind wretch Young Harry youth yowie
Стр. 156 - My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit — I sit and sing to them. And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain ; And then she went away.
Стр. 118 - WEE, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi...
Стр. 155 - That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Стр. 155 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Стр. 115 - 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.
Стр. 145 - WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between, Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms? Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!
Стр. 161 - The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ; I heard a voice ; it said, " Drink, pretty Creature, drink !" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain Lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Стр. 142 - And then an open field they crossed : The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none ! — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child ; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.