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Page 75 - These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested...
Page 75 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Page 76 - God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my...
Page 75 - Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain. These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art.
Page 71 - And crystal wall of Heaven ; which, opening wide, 860 Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed Into the wasteful Deep. The monstrous sight Strook them with horror backward ; but far worse Urged them behind : headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heaven : eternal wrath Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.
Page 78 - Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; Nor make our scanty pleasures less, By pining at our state ; And, even should misfortunes come, I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, An's thankfu
Page 83 - Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, The sweeping vales and foaming floods, Are free alike to all. In days when daisies deck the ground, And blackbirds whistle clear, With honest joy our hearts will bound, To see the coming year: On braes when we please, then, We'll sit an' sowth a tune; Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, And sing't when we hae done.
Page 72 - Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to fight, More studious to divide, than to unite ; And grace and virtue, sense and reason split, With all the rash dexterity of wit.* Wits, just like fools, at war about a name, Have full as oft no meaning, or the same. Self-love and reason to one end aspire, Pain their aversion, pleasure their desire ; But greedy that, its object would devour, This, taste the honey, and not wound the flow'r.
Page 56 - The collection of songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them, driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the true tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced I owe to this practice much of my critic-craft, such as it is.
Page 72 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.