"I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn By driving winds the crackling flames are borne;" Now raving-wild, I curse that fatal night, Then bless the hour that charm'd my guilty sight: In vain the laws their feeble force oppose, Chain'd at Love's feet, they groan, his vanquish'd foes. That hour accurst how did the fiends rejoice And hell, thro' all her confines, raise the exulting voice, That hour which saw the generous English name Linkt with such damned deeds of everlasting shame! He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by The Hollies - Songfacts. Where, braving angry winter's storms, The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes; As one who by some savage stream A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd, doubly marks it beam With art's most polish'd blaze. But thee, whom all my soul adores, Ev'n Flattery cannot flatter: Maria, all my thought and dream, Inspires my vocal shell; The more I praise my lovely theme, The more the truth I tell. Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes. Sowth, to hum or whistle in a low tune.
I can see that you are starting to see. O steer her up, an' be na blate, An' gin she tak it ill, jo, Then leave the lassie till her fate, And time nae langer spill, jo: Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, But think upon it still, jo: That gin the lassie winna do't, Ye'll find anither will, jo. Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing O'er hill and dale she flew, man; Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man: She summon'd every social sprite, That sports by wood or water, On th' bonie banks of Ayr to meet, And keep this Fete Champetre. The half-asleep start up wi' fear, An' think they hear it roarin; When presently it does appear, 'Twas but some neibor snorin Asleep that day. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi'bluidy hand a welcome gies him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Tune—"Neil Gow's Lament for Abercairny. Brother to the Night (A Blues for Nina) [Darius' Poem] - Spoken Word by Larenz Tate. Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! An honest man's the noblest work of God—Pope. For, in this world, Rest or Peace I never more shall know! Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, An' rode thro' thick and thin; But now she's floating down the Nith, And wanting even the skin. Darius Lovehall: You said it was bad timing. Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride, And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, I can haud up my head wi' the best o' the breed, Though fluttering ever so braw, man. Extempore On Some Commemorations Of Thomson. Brother to the night. Maxwell, if merit here you crave, That merit I deny; You save fair Jessie from the grave! Scarcely any known author has succeeded so brilliantly in combining his work with folk material, or in carrying on with such continuity of spirit the tradition of popular song. By all on high adoring mortals know! Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew; And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to renew! It is evident that Burns was a man of extremely passionate nature and fond of conviviality; and the misfortunes of his lot combined with his natural tendencies to drive him to frequent excesses of self-indulgence.
Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, Unskaithed by hunger'd Highland boors; Lord grant me nae duddie, desperate beggar, Wi' dirk, claymore, and rusty trigger, May twin auld Scotland o' a life She likes—as butchers like a knife. Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the Muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate! That e'er my muse has reason, To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! Darklins, in the dark. Soon, to me, may Summer suns Nae mair light up the morn! To these what Tory hosts oppos'd With these what Tory warriors clos'd Surpasses my descriving; Squadrons, extended long and large, With furious speed rush to the charge, Like furious devils driving. Why, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy"? Here awa, hereabout. Jocteleg, a clasp-knife. Brother to the night lyrics love jones. But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet, And what is best of a', Her reputation is complete, And fair without a flaw. In either wing two champions fought; Redoubted Staig, who set at nought The wildest savage Tory; And Welsh who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, High-wav'd his magnum-bonum round With Cyclopeian fury.
Pattle, pettle, a plow-staff. Flow gently, sweet Afton! Sweet closes the ev'ning on Craigieburn Wood, And blythely awaukens the morrow; But the pride o' the spring in the Craigieburn Wood Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, My Matthew mourn! The last time I came o'er the moor, And left Maria's dwelling, What throes, what tortures passing cure, Were in my bosom swelling: Condemn'd to see my rival's reign, While I in secret languish; To feel a fire in every vein, Yet dare not speak my anguish. A Blues For Nina (From the movie Love Jones. For a' that, &c. In rapture sweet this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that, [Footnote 1: A later version of "I am a bard of no regard" in "The Jolly Beggars. "] Here's to budgets, bags and wallets! Wintle, a somersault. Keekin-glass, the looking-glass. Widdifu', gallows-worthy.
Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Fraser brave did fa', man; Then lost his way, ae misty day, In Saratoga shaw, man. Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church. I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. Temper-pin, a fiddle-peg; the regulating pin of the spinning-wheel. I started, mutt'ring, "blockhead! Love jones brother to the night. Snoods, fillets worn by maids. You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1. Thou maysn find those will love thee dear, But not a love like mine, my Katie, Canst thou leave me, &c. Tune—"There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. Now safe the stately sawmont sail, And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, And eels, weel-ken'd for souple tail, And geds for greed, Since, dark in Death's fish-creel, we wail Tam Samson's dead!