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Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

时间:2023-05-28  来源:  作者:Robert Burns
and flatt'ry i detest)
this life has joys for you and i;
an' joys that riches ne'er could buy,
an' joys the very best.
there's a' the pleasures o' the heart,
the lover an' the frien';
ye hae your meg, your dearest part,
and i my darling jean!
it warms me, it charms me,
to mention but her name:
it heats me, it beets me,
an' sets me a' on flame!
o all ye pow'rs who rule above!
o thou whose very self art love!
thou know'st my words sincere!
the life-blood streaming thro' my heart,
or my more dear immortal part,
is not more fondly dear!
when heart-corroding care and grief
deprive my soul of rest,
her dear idea brings relief,
and solace to my breast.
thou being, all-seeing,
o hear my fervent pray'r;
still take her, and make her
thy most peculiar care!
all hail! ye tender feelings dear!
the smile of love, the friendly tear,
the sympathetic glow!
long since, this world's thorny ways
had number'd out my weary days,
had it not been for you!
fate still has blest me with a friend,
in ev'ry care and ill;
and oft a more endearing band—
a tie more tender still.
it lightens, it brightens
the tenebrific scene,
to meet with, and greet with
my davie, or my jean!
o, how that name inspires my style!
the wordse skelpin, rank an' file,
amaist before i ken!
the ready measure rins as fine,
as phoebus an' the famous nine
were glowrin owre my pen.
my spaviet pegasus will limp,
till ance he's fairly het;
and then he'll hilch, and stilt, an' jimp,
and rin an unco fit:
but least then the beast then
should rue this hasty ride,
i'll light now, and dight now
his sweaty, wizen'd hide.





Poems and Songs of Robert Burns holy willies prayer
holy willie's prayer
“and send the godly in a pet to pray.”—pope.
argument.
holy willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. in a sessional process with a gentleman in mauchline—a mr. gavin hamilton—holy willie and his priest, father auld, after full hearing in the presbytery of ayr, came off but second best; owing partly to the oratorical powers of mr. robert aiken, mr. hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to mr. hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable characters in the county. on losing the process, the muse overheard him [holy willie] at his devotions, as follows:—
o thou, who in the heavens does dwell,
who, as it pleases best thysel',
sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell,
a' for thy glory,
and no for ony gude or ill
they've done afore thee!
i bless and praise thy matchless might,
when thousands thou hast left in night,
that i am here afore thy sight,
for gifts an' grace
a burning and a shining light
to a' this place.
what was i, or my generation,
that i should get sic exaltation,
i wha deserve most just damnation
for broken laws,
five thousand years ere my creation,
thro' adam's cause?
when frae my mither's womb i fell,
thou might hae plunged me in hell,
to gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
in burnin lakes,
where damned devils roar and yell,
chain'd to their stakes.
yet i am here a chosen sample,
to show thy grace is great and ample;
i'm here a pillar o' thy temple,
strong as a rock,
a guide, a buckler, and example,
to a' thy flock.
o lord, thou kens what zeal i bear,
when drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,
an' singin there, an' dancin here,
wi' great and sma';
for i am keepit by thy fear
free frae them a'.
but yet, o lord! confess i must,
at times i'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
an' sometimes, too, in wardly trust,
vile self gets in:
but thou remembers we are dust,
defil'd wi' sin.
o lord! yestreen, thou kens, wi' meg—
thy pardon i sincerely beg,
o! may't ne'er be a livin plague
to my dishonour,
an' i'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
again upon her.
besides, i farther maun allow,
wi' leezie's lass, three times i trow—
but lord, that friday i was fou,
when i cam near her;
or else, thou kens, thy servant true
wad never steer her.
maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn
buffet thy servant e'en and morn,
lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn,
that he's sae gifted:
if sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne,
until thou lift it.
lord, bless thy chosen in this place,
for here thou hast a chosen race:
but god confound their stubborn face,
an' blast their name,
wha bring thy elders to disgrace
an' public shame.
lord, mind gaw'n hamilton's deserts;
he drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
yet has sae mony takin arts,
wi' great and sma',
frae god's ain priest the people's hearts
he steals awa.
an' when we chasten'd him therefor,
thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
an' set the warld in a roar
o' laughing at us;—
curse thou his basket and his store,
kail an' potatoes.
lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
against that presbyt'ry o' ayr;
thy strong right hand, lord, make it bare
upo' their heads;
lord visit them, an' dinna spare,
for their misdeeds.
o lord, my god! that glib-tongu'd aiken,
my vera heart and flesh are quakin,
to think how we stood sweatin', shakin,
an' p-'d wi' dread,
while he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin,
held up his head.
lord, in thy day o' vengeance try him,
lord, visit them wha did employ him,
and pass not in thy mercy by 'em,
nor hear their pray'r,
but for thy people's sake, destroy 'em,
an' dinna spare.
but, lord, remember me an' mine
wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine,
that i for grace an' gear may shine,
excell'd by nane,
and a' the glory shall be thine,
amen, amen!




Poems and Songs of Robert Burns epitaph on holy willie
epitaph on holy willie
here holy willie's sair worn clay
taks up its last abode;
his saul has ta'en some other way,
i fear, the left-hand road.
stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
poor, silly body, see him;
nae wonder he's as black's the grun,
observe wha's standing wi' him.
your brunstane devilship, i see,
has got him there before ye;
but haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
till ance you've heard my story.
your pity i will not implore,
for pity ye have nane;
justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
and mercy's day is gane.
but hear me, sir, deil as ye are,
look something to your credit;
a coof like him wad stain your name,
if it were kent ye did it.




Poems and Songs of Robert Burns death and doctor hornbook
death and doctor hornbook
a true story
some books are lies frae end to end,
and some great lies were never penn'd:
ev'n ministers they hae been kenn'd,
in holy rapture,
a rousing whid at times to vend,
and nail't wi' scripture.
but this that i am gaun to tell,
which lately on a night befell,
is just as true's the deil's in hell
or dublin city:
that e'er he neareres oursel'
's a muckle pity.
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