Lives of Scottish Poets ...

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Page 24 - I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock: I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast...
Page 13 - Now, Spring returns : but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Page 14 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
Page 102 - Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! Sweet'ner of life ! and solder of society ! I owe thee much.
Page 62 - I ASSURE you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return it would savour of affectation ; but, as to any more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind; I swear by that HONOUR which crowns the upright statue of ROBERT BURNS-S INTEGRITY on the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger to you...
Page 64 - With horror fraught, the dreadful Scene drew near ! The Ship hangs hovering on the verge of death, Hell yawns, Rocks rise, and Breakers roar beneath...
Page 17 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes...
Page 79 - I LOVED thee once; I'll love no more, Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same? He that can love unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain: God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away!
Page 2 - However, had he translated the whole work, I would no more have attempted Homer after him than Virgil, his Version of whom (notwithstanding some human errors) is the most noble and spirited translation I know in any language.
Page 5 - That was betrasit with lucifeir, quha sittis in hell full merk. Borrowit with chrystis angell cleir, hend men, will ye nocht herk ? for his lufe that bocht us deir, Think on the bludy serk.

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