189. Verses on Castle Gordon (Robert Burns Poem)
STREAMS that glide in orient plains, Never bound by Winter's chains; Glowing here on golden sands, There immix'd with foulest ...
STREAMS that glide in orient plains, Never bound by Winter's chains; Glowing here on golden sands, There immix'd with foulest ...
Mysterious death! who in a single hour Life's gold can so refine And by thy art divine Change mortal weakness ...
1 Faster, faster, 2 O Circe, Goddess, 3 Let the wild, thronging train 4 The bright procession 5 Of eddying ...
One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee, One lesson which in every wind is blown, One lesson of two ...
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through ...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade ...
'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through ...
THOU, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, ...
O THOU pale orb that silent shines While care-untroubled mortals sleep! Thou seest a wretch who inly pines. And wanders ...
WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play an' that new sang is comin? Why ...
O THOU! whatever title suit thee- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd ...
FRAE the friends and land I love, Driv'n by Fortune's felly spite; Frae my best belov'd I rove, Never mair ...
LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, ...
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far south ...
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day, The curless quat their roarin play, And hunger'd maukin taen her way, To ...
WHEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth Along the banks of ...
THOU'S 1 welcome, wean; mishanter fa' me, If thoughts o' thee, or yet thy mamie, Shall ever daunton me or ...
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the ...
MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; ...
The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole; She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, ...
Come, kings, and listen to my song: When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His ...
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