Poems & songs . d,Ilk man and mothers son, take heed :Whaneer to drink you are inclined,Or cutty-sarks run i your mind,Think ! ye may buy the joys owre dear—Remember Tarn o Shanters mare. ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. Sweet flowret, pledge o meikle love, And ward o mony a prayr,What heart o stane would thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! November hirples oer the lea, Chill on thy lovely form ;And gane, alas! the sheltering tree Should shield thee frae the storm. May He who gives the rain to pour, And wings the blast to blaw,Protect thee frae the driving showr, The bitter frost
Poems & songs . d,Ilk man and mothers son, take heed :Whaneer to drink you are inclined,Or cutty-sarks run i your mind,Think ! ye may buy the joys owre dear—Remember Tarn o Shanters mare. ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. Sweet flowret, pledge o meikle love, And ward o mony a prayr,What heart o stane would thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! November hirples oer the lea, Chill on thy lovely form ;And gane, alas! the sheltering tree Should shield thee frae the storm. May He who gives the rain to pour, And wings the blast to blaw,Protect thee frae the driving showr, The bitter frost and snaw! May He, the friend of woe and want, Who heals lifes various stounds,Protect and guard the mother-plant, And heal her cruel wounds ! But late she flourishd, rooted fast, Fair on the summer-morn :Now feebly bends she in the blast, Unshelterd and forlorn. ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL. 25 Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,Unscathd by ruffian hand ! And from thee many a parent stemArise to deck our land !. ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE. Why, ye tenants of the lake,For me your watry haunts forsake 1Tell me fellow-creatures, whyAt my presence thus you fly 1Why disturb your social joys,Parent, filial, kindred ties?—Common friend to you and me,Natures gifts to all are free : E POEMS BY ROBERT BURNS, Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,Busy feed, or wanton lave;Or, beneath the sheltering rock,Bide the surging billows shock. Conscious, blushing for our race,Soon, too soon, your fears I , your proud usurping foe,Would be lord of all below :Plumes himself in freedoms pride,Tyrant stern to all eagle, from the cliffy brow,Marking you his prey below,In his breast no pity dwells,Strong necessity compels :But man, to whom alone is givnA ray direct from pitying heavn,Glories in his heart humane—And creatures for his pleasure these savage, liquid plains,Only known to wandring swains,Where the mossy riv
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Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
