The Poetical Works: Of Robert Fergusson, with the Life of the Author. By David Irving. Embellished with Three Elegant Engravings. Chapman and Lang's Edition (Google eBook)

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Chapman and Lang, 1800 - 223 pages
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Page 106 - 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.
Page 52 - Sing his praises that doth keep Our flocks from harm, Pan, the father of our sheep ; And arm in arm Tread we softly in a round, Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the music with her sound.
Page 105 - Maks mony kail-worms butterflies, Gies mony a doctor his degrees For little skaith : In short, you may be what you please Wi' gude Braid Claith. For thof ye had as wise a snout on As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton, Your judgment fouk wad hae a doubt on, I'll tak my aith, Till they cou'd see ye wi* a suit on O
Page 116 - An' may they scad their lips fu' leal, That dip their spoons in ither's kail. ODE TO THE GOWDSPINK. Jr RAE fields where Spring her sweets has blawn Wi' caller verdure our the lawn, The Gowdspink comes in new attire, The brawest 'mang the whistling choir, That, ere the sun can clear his ein, Wi' glib notes sane the simmer's green.
Page 117 - mang the sudden fa's O' winter's dreary dreepin' snaws. Now steekit frae the gowany field, Frae ilka fav'rite houff and bield, But mergh, alas ! to disengage Your bonny bouck frae fettering cage, Your free-born bosom beats in vain For darling liberty again. In window hung, how aft we see Thee keek around at warblers free. That carrol saft, and sweetly sing Wi
Page 168 - The scansing glories o' carmine ! Ah, legs ! in vain the silk-worm there Display'd to view her eident care ; For stink, instead of perfumes, grow, And clarty odours fragrant flow. Now some to porter, some to punch, Some to their wife, and some their wench, Retire, while noisy ten-hours' drum Gars a' your trades gac dand'ring home. Now mony a club, jocose and free, Gie a...
Page 140 - TO THE TRON-KIRK BELL. WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing, As e'er was fram'd to jow or ring, What gar'd them sic in steeple hing They ken themsel', But weel wat I they cou'dna bring Waur sounds frae hell.
Page 127 - An' loup like Hebe o'er the grass, As wanton and as free, Frae dule this day. 'I dwall amang the caller springs That weet the Land o' Cakes, And aften tune my canty strings At bridals and late-wakes: They ca...
Page 98 - For nought can cheer the heart sae weel As can a canty Highland reel; It even vivifies the heel To skip and dance: Lifeless is he wha canna feel Its influence. Let mirth abound ; let social cheer Invest the dawning of the year; Let blithesome innocence appear To crown our joy; Nor envy, wi' sarcastic sneer, Our bliss destroy.
Page 134 - 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.

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