The Poems of Robert Fergusson

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J. Fairbairn [and others], 1821 - 229 oldal

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23. oldal - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
104. oldal - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
xiii. oldal - No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, ' No storied urn nor animated bust ;' This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
99. oldal - HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling.
133. oldal - Tho' age her sair-dow'd front wi' runcles wave ; Yet frae the russet lap the spindle plays ; Her e'enin stent reels she as weel's the lave. On some feast-day the wee things, buskit braw, Shall heeze her heart up wi...
133. oldal - O mock na this, my friends ! but rather mourn, Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear ; Wi' eild our idle fancies a' return, And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear ; The mind's ay cradled whan the grave is near.
140. oldal - This bell o' mine's a trick, A wily piece o' politic, A cunnin' snare, To trap fouk in a cloven stick, Ere they're aware. " As lang's my dautit bell hings there, A...
180. oldal - Yarrow braes, Arcadian herds wad tyne their lays, To hear the mair melodious sounds That live on our poetic grounds. Come, Fancy ! come, and let us tread The simmer's flow'ry velvet bed, And a...
103. oldal - Wi' gude Braid Claith. On Sabbath-days the barber spark, Whan he has done wi' scrapin wark, Wi' siller broachie in his sark, Gangs trigly, faith ! Or to the Meadow, or the Park, In gude Braid Claith. Weel might ye trow, to see them there, That they to shave your haffits bare, Or curl and sleek a pickle hair, Wad be right laith, Whan pacing wi' a gawsy air In gude Braid Claith.
69. oldal - When you censure the age, Be cautious and sage, Lest the courtiers offended, should be ; If you mention vice or bribe, 'Tis so pat to all the tribe, Each cries — That was levelld at me.

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