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Auld baith banks beauty bonny breath bring cheer cou'd dark dead death delight dowie face fair fancy fear feeling Fergusson fields fortune fouk frae genius give green groves grow gude hame hand happy hath head hear heart hills hope ilka Italy kind leave light living look mair maun mind mony morn mourn Muse nature ne'er never night o'er owre plain play pleasure poet poor rich rise rose round scene Scotland Scottish seen shade shepherd shore shou'd sigh sing smiles song sons soon sorrow sound spring stands strain streams swain sweet taste tear tell thee thou thought Till tongue town turn Twas virtue voice waters weel wing wish wou'd young youth
Page 33 - 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?
Page 114 - 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 79 - 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.
Page 109 - HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling.
Page 143 - Shall heeze her heart up wi' a silent joy, Fu' cadgie that her head was up, and saw Her ain spun cleedin on a darlin oy ; Careless tho' death shon'd mak the feast her foy.
Page 59 - O great god Pan, to thee Thus do we sing ! Thou that keep'st us chaste and free As the young spring ; Ever be thy honour spoke, From that place the Morn is broke To that place Day doth unyoke...
Page 143 - 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.
Page 104 - Sends drift owr a' his bleak domain, And guides the weir. Auld Reikie ! thou'rt the canty hole, A bield for mony a caldrife soul, Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth ; While round they gar the bicker roll To weet their mouth. • When merry Yule-day comes, I trow You'll scantlins find a hungry mou ; Sma' are our cares, our stamacks fou O' gusty gear, And kickshaws, strangers to our view, Sin Fairn-year.