The works of Robert Burns; with an account of his life, and a criticism on his writings. To which are prefixed, some observations on the character and condition of the Scottish peasantry. As ed. by J. Currie (Google eBook)

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1816
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Page 179 - 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?
Page 313 - My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Page 314 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.
Page 299 - But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Page 15 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Page 295 - Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Page 275 - ALTHO' thou maun never be mine, Altho' even hope is denied ; 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than aught in the world beside Jessy ! Here's a health, &c. I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms : But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, For then I am lockt in thy arms Jessy ! Here's a health, &c.
Page 302 - Glen? My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me; But wha can think sae o

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