The Kinnears [by H. Keddie].

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Стр. 248 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Стр. 281 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that ; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a that. 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. 281 - 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. 42 - The luve o' life's young day ! The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en May weel be black gin Yule; But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule. 0 dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o" bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path And blind my een wi...
Стр. 195 - Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never lo'e me mair.
Стр. 1 - Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flowers the simmer's pride; There wasna sic a bonnie tree in a' the country side. O rowan tree! How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi
Стр. 168 - For he who fights and runs away May live to fight another day ; But he who is in battle slain Can never rise and fight again.
Стр. 133 - Sin' the fa' o' the year. Sair trouble cam our gate, And made me, when it cam, A bird without a mate, A ewe without a lamb. Our hay was yet to maw, And our corn was to shear, When they a' dwined awa' In the fa' o
Стр. 1 - Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, and Jamie at her knee. 0 rowan tree! O there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm; How sweet was then my mother's voice in the Martyr's psalm ! Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the rowan tree! But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy, O rowan tree!
Стр. 220 - He turned him round and right about, Upon the Irish shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, With, adieu for ever more, my love ! Adieu for ever more ! " The soldier fra the war returns. The merchant fra the main ; But I ha'e parted fra...

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