Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
acquaintance allow appear bard believe character charming compliments consequence copy criticisms dare DEAR SIR DUNLOP Edinburgh equal existence expression fame fancy favour feelings follies fortune friendship genius give grateful gratitude hand happy hear heart honest honour hope human idea interest kind lady language late letter light living look lord Madam manner mean meet merit mind miserable Miss MOORE muse native nature never night noble notice obliging once opinion perhaps person pleased pleasure poems poet poetic poetry poor present reason received respecting Robert Scottish seen sent sincerely situation song soon soul spirit stanzas tell thanks thing thou thought truly truth turned verses virtue whole wish write written young
Сторінка 9 - I do not know if I should call it pleasure — but something which. exalts me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in .the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and. hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, 'walks on the wings of the wind.
Сторінка 152 - Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Сторінка 115 - I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
Сторінка 324 - Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword...
Сторінка 556 - tis nought to me; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes, there must be joy.
Сторінка 8 - For my own part I never had the least thought or inclination of turning poet till I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a manner the spontaneous language of my heart.
Сторінка 177 - Thy spirit, Independence ! let me share, Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye ! Thy steps I follow 'with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Сторінка 465 - It is the moon — I ken her horn, That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! Wha first shall rise to gang awa', A cuckold, coward loon is he ! Wha last beside his chair shall fa...
Сторінка 306 - O gin my love were yon red rose That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel' a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! Oh, there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus