or, if man's superior might
dare invade your native right,
on the lofty ether borne,
man with all his pow'rs you scorn;
swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
other lakes and other springs;
and the foe you cannot brave,
scorn at least to be his slave.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns blythe was she blythe was she 注释标题 written at oughtertyre. phemie is miss euphemia murray, a cousin of sir william murray of oughtertyre.—lang.
tune—“andro and his cutty gun.”
chorus.—blythe, blythe and merry was she,
blythe was she but and ben;
blythe by the banks of earn,
and blythe in glenturit glen.
by oughtertyre grows the aik,
on yarrow banks the birken shaw;
but phemie was a bonier lass
than braes o' yarrow ever saw.
blythe, blythe, c.
her looks were like a flow'r in may,
her smile was like a simmer morn:
she tripped by the banks o' earn,
as light's a bird upon a thorn.
blythe, blythe, c.
her bonie face it was as meek
as ony lamb upon a lea;
the evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
as was the blink o' phemie's e'e.
blythe, blythe, c.
the highland hills i've wander'd wide,
and o'er the lawlands i hae been;
but phemie was the blythest lass
that ever trod the dewy green.
blythe, blythe, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns a rose-bud by my early walk a rose-bud by my early walk
a rose-bud by my early walk,
adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
all on a dewy morning.
ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
in a' its crimson glory spread,
and drooping rich the dewy head,
it scents the early morning.
within the bush her covert nest
a little linnet fondly prest;
the dew sat chilly on her breast,
sae early in the morning.
she soon shall see her tender brood,
the pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
awake the early morning.
so thou, dear bird, young jeany fair,
on trembling string or vocal air,
shall sweetly pay the tender care
that tents thy early morning.
so thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
and bless the parent's evening ray
that watch'd thy early morning.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns epitaph for mr. w. cruikshank epitaph for mr. w. cruikshank 注释标题 of the edinburgh high school.
honest will to heaven's away
and mony shall lament him;
his fau'ts they a' in latin lay,
in english nane e'er kent them.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns song—the banks of the devon song—the banks of the devon
tune—“bhanarach dhonn a' chruidh.”
how pleasant the banks of the clear winding devon,
with green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair!
but the boniest flow'r on the banks of the devon
was once a sweet bud on the braes of the ayr.
mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
in the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
and gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
that steals on the evening each leaf to renew!
o spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
with chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn;
and far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
the verdure and pride of the garden or lawn!
let bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,
and england triumphant display her proud rose:
a fairer than either adorns the green valleys,
where devon, sweet devon, meandering flows.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns braving angry winters storms braving angry winter's storms
tune—“neil gow's lament for abercairny.”
where, braving angry winter's storms,
the lofty ochils rise,
far in their shade my peggy's charms
first blest my wondering eyes;
as one who by some savage stream
a lonely gem surveys,
astonish'd, doubly marks it beam
with art's most polish'd blaze.
blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
and blest the day and hour,
where peggy's charms i first survey'd,
when first i felt their pow'r!
the tyrant death, with grim control,
may seize my fleeting breath;
but tearing peggy from my soul
must be a stronger death.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns song—my peggys charms song—my peggy's charms
tune—“tha a' chailleach ir mo dheigh.”
my peggy's face, my peggy's form,
the frost of hermit age might warm;
my peggy's worth, my peggy's mind,
might charm the first of human kind.
i love my peggy's angel air,
her face so truly heavenly fair,
her native grace, so void of art,
but i adore my peggy's heart.
the lily's hue, the rose's dye,
the kindling lustre of an eye;
who but owns their magic sway!
who but knows they all decay!
the tender thrill, the pitying tear,
the generous purpose nobly dear,
the gentle look that rage disarms—
these are all immortal charms.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the young highland rover the young highland rover
tune—“morag.”
loud blaw the frosty breezes,
the snaws the mountains cover;
like winter on me seizes,
since my young highland rover
far wanders nations over.
where'er he go, where'er he stray,
may heaven be his warden;
return him safe to fair strathspey,
and bonie castle-gordon!
the trees, now naked groaning,
shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
the birdies dowie moaning,
shall a' be blythely singing,
and every flower be springing;
sae i'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
when by his mighty warden
my youth's return'd to fair strathspey,
and bonie castle-gordon.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns birthday ode for 31st december, 1787 birthday ode for 31st december, 1787 注释标题 the last birthday of prince charles edward.
afar the illustrious exile roams,
whom kingdoms on this day should hail;
an inmate in the casual shed,
on transient pity's bounty fed,
haunted by busy memory's bitter tale!
beasts of the forest have their savage homes,
but he, who should imperial purple wear,
owns not the lap of earth where rests his royal head!
his wretched refuge, dark despair,
while ravening wrongs and woes pursue,
and distant far the faithful few
who would his sorrows share.
false flatterer, hope, away!
nor think to lure us as in days of yore:
we solemnize this sorrowing natal day,
to prove our loyal truth—we can no more,
and owning heaven's mysterious sway,
submissive, low adore.
ye honored, mighty dead,
who nobly perished in the glorious cause,
your king, your country, and her laws,
from great dundee, who smiling victory led,
and fell a martyr in her arms,
(what breast of northern ice but warms!)
to bold balmerino's undying name,
whose soul of fire, lighted at heaven's high flame,
deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim:
nor unrevenged your fate shall lie,
it only lags, the fatal hour,
your blood shall, with incessant cry,
awake at last, th' unsparing power;
as from the cliff, with thundering course,
the snowy ruin smokes along
with doubling speed and gathering force,
till deep it, crushing, whelms the cottage in the vale;
so vengeance' arm, ensanguin'd, strong,
shall with resistless might assail,
usurping brunswick's pride shall lay,
and stewart's wrongs and yours, with tenfold weight repay.
perdition, baleful child of night!
rise and revenge the injured right
of stewart's royal race:
lead on the unmuzzled hounds of hell,