90. Epistle to James Smith (Robert Burns Poem)
DEAR SMITH, the slee'st, pawkie thief, That e'er attempted stealth or rief! Ye surely hae some warlock-brief Owre human hearts; ...
DEAR SMITH, the slee'st, pawkie thief, That e'er attempted stealth or rief! Ye surely hae some warlock-brief Owre human hearts; ...
AULD NEIBOUR,I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter; Tho' I maun say't I doubt ye ...
WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, An' hing us owre the ingle, I ...
O GOWDIE, terror o' the whigs, Dread o' blackcoats and rev'rend wigs! Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girns an' ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
I turn the page and read: "I dream of silent verses where the rhyme Glides noiseless as an oar." The ...
MY lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble ...
TO you, sir, this summons I've sent, Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing; But if you demand what I ...
ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.WOW, but your letter made me vauntie! And are ye hale, and weel and cantie? I ken'd ...
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's mony godly folks are thinkin, Your ...
LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close, ...
O THOU! whatever title suit thee- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd ...
IN this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne'er cross't the Muse's ...
WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I ...
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day, The curless quat their roarin play, And hunger'd maukin taen her way, To ...
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was ...
WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass ...
NAE heathen name shall I prefix, Frae Pindus or Parnassus; Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks, For rhyme-inspiring lasses. ...
NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, ...
I. Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the ...
and the sun weilds mercy but like a jet torch carried to high, and the jets whip across its sight ...
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