Poems & songs . NS. In the cause of right engaged,Wrongs injurious to redress, Honours war we strongly waged,But the heavens denied success. [Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure,Tween Misfortune and Folly shard ! Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure !Farewell, flattering mans regard!] Ruins wheel has driven oer us,Not a hope that dare attend, The wide world is all before us—But a world without a friend! I DREAMD I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERESPRINGING. I dreamd I lay where flowers were springing, Gaily in the sunny beam;Listning to the wild birds singing, By a falling, crystal stream :Straight the
Poems & songs . NS. In the cause of right engaged,Wrongs injurious to redress, Honours war we strongly waged,But the heavens denied success. [Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure,Tween Misfortune and Folly shard ! Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure !Farewell, flattering mans regard!] Ruins wheel has driven oer us,Not a hope that dare attend, The wide world is all before us—But a world without a friend! I DREAMD I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERESPRINGING. I dreamd I lay where flowers were springing, Gaily in the sunny beam;Listning to the wild birds singing, By a falling, crystal stream :Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro the woods the whirlwinds rave ;Trees with aged arms were warring, Oer the swelling, drumlie wave. Such was my lifes deceitful morning, Such the pleasures I enjoyd;But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, A my flowry bliss fickle fortune has deceivd me, (She promisd fair, and performd but ill;)Of mony a joy and hope bereavd me, I bear a heart shall support me 152 SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. There would I weep my woes,There seek my lost repose, Till grief my eyes should close,Neer to wake more. Falsest of womankind, canst thou declareAll thy fond plighted vows—fleeting as airTo thy new lover hie,Laugh oer thy perjury,Then in thy bosom tryWhat peace is there! BLITHE WAS —Andrew and his Cutty Gun. Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, Blithe was she but and ben ;Blithe by the banks of Earn, And blithe in Glenturit glen. By Auchtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonnier lassThan braes o Yarrow ever saw. Her looks were like a flowr in May,Her smile was like a simmer morn ; She tripped by the banks of Earn,As lights a bird upon a thorn. Her bonnie face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lea;The evening sun was neer sae sweet, As was the blink o Phemies ee. The Highland hills Ive wanderd wide,And oer the Lowlands I hae been; But Phemie was the blithest lassThat ever trod the dewy green. PEG
Size: 1319px × 1894px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
