Historical Sketch of the Burns Statue: The McPherson Legacy to the City of Albany. Erected in Washington Park September 30, 1888Weed, Parsons & Company, printers, 1889 - 67 стор. |
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Historical Sketch of the Burns Statue, the McPherson Legacy to the City of ... Robert Collyer Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
Historical Sketch of the Burns Statue, the McPherson Legacy to the City of ... Robert Collyer Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2010 |
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30th inst 30th of August ALLAN GILMOUR American ANDREW MCMURRAY Andrew's Society Archibald Auld Lang Syne ballad bard bequest born Burns statue Caledonian Caledonian Club Calverley Chairman Charles Calverley citizens of Albany city of Albany clans committee Cotter's Saturday Night DEAR SIR Dundee Burns Club erected executor feeling friends gathering genius George Hendrie gift grand heart heather honest honor human independence JAMES LAWRENCE James McCombe kind invitation Lachlan McPherson lived McCredie McEwan McPherson legacy memory of Burns memory of Robert Miss Mary McPherson Miss McPherson's monument native land never noble occasion old Scotland patriotic Peter Kinnear poem poor present proud regret Robbie Burns Robert Burns Scot Scotch Scotchmen Scotia's Scotland Scots wha hae Scottish Scottish Literature sincerely sing songs statue of Burns statue of Robert Surely tender thistles Thomas tion to-day toast touches unveiling Walter Walter Dickson Washington park William worthy
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Сторінка 30 - THAT AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a
Сторінка 42 - There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest...
Сторінка 47 - That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a
Сторінка 48 - We praise him, not for gifts divine, — His Muse was born of woman, — His manhood breathes in every line, — Was ever heart more human ? We love him, praise him, just for this : In every form and feature, Through wealth and want, through woe and bliss, He saw his fellow-creature...
Сторінка 24 - And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing The tither stocked raw, Wi' claivers, an' haivers, Wearing the day awa : Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast ; That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.
Сторінка 42 - A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, Time-tutored age and love-exalted youth: The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime the...
Сторінка 38 - O CALEDONIA ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires, what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand...
Сторінка 43 - Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing, One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, — Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh !* * Ireland my darling,— Ireland for ever.
Сторінка 27 - OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM. No more these simple flowers belong To Scottish maid and lover ; Sown in the common soil of song, They bloom the wide world over. In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, The minstrel and the heather, The deathless singer and the flowers He sang of live together.
Сторінка 58 - Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, A hate of tyrant and of knave, A love of right, a scorn of wrong, Of coward and of slave; A kind, true heart, a spirit high, That could not fear and would not bow. Were written in his manly eye And on his manly brow.