183. Verses Written with a Pencil at the Inn at Kenmore (Robert Burns Poem)
ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and ...
ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and ...
LONE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, ...
AFAR 1 the illustrious Exile roams, Whom kingdoms on this day should hail; An inmate in the casual shed, On ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
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