Poems: Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, Volume 3 (Google eBook)

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J. M'Kie, 1869
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Page 172 - Yet I am here a chosen sample, To show thy grace is great and ample ; I'm here a pillar in thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an example To a
Page 319 - GRACE. SOME hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it ; But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thanket. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON. PEG Nicholson was a gude bay mare, As ever trode on airn ; But now she's floating down the Nith, An' past the mouth o
Page 71 - Poems ascribed to Robert Burns, the Ayrshire bard, not contained in any edition of his works hitherto published.
Page 81 - I ONCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men ; Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de lal, &c.
Page 79 - I AM a son of Mars who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Page 37 - As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care.
Page 96 - Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! Here's to all the wandering train ! Here's our ragged brats and callets ! One and all cry out — Amen!
Page 296 - For ever so constant and true ; But his is like the moon, that wanders up and down, And every month it is new. All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, I pity the pains you endure ; For experience makes me know, that your hearts are full of woe, A woe that no mortal can cure.
Page 118 - PRAYER 0 thou, wha in the Heavens dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best thysel', Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, A' for thy glory, And no for ony guid or ill They've done afore thee!
Page 295 - When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie, And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie ! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary ! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie : — — O ! there is an intensity here, a note of passion beyond the deepest of Herrick's.

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