File:The poetical works and letters of Robert Burns (1869) (14784811795).jpg

Identifier: poeticalworkslet00burn (find matches)
Title: The poetical works and letters of Robert Burns
Year: 1869 (1860s)
Authors: Burns, Robert, 1759-1796
Subjects: Burns, Robert, 1759-1796 Poets, Scottish
Publisher: Edinburgh, Gall & Inglis
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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nned on Carrick shore ; known For mony a beast to dead she shot, many, to death And perished mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, both, much, barley And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude though sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie— boastful Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie knew That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, bought Wi twa pund Scots (twas a her riches), Wad ever graced a dance o witches ! But here my Muse her wing maun cour, must cower Sic flights are far beyond her power; such To sing how Nannie lap and flang, leapt (A souple jad she was and Strang,) agile, strong And how Tarn stood like ane bewitched, one And thought his very een enriched; eyesEven Satan glowred and fidged fu fain, stared, fidgeted And hotched and blew mi might and main: moved Till first ae caper, syne anither, then Tarn tint his reason a thegither, lost, togetiw.- short shift, coarse tow
Text Appearing After Image:
Ae spring brought oft i.ex .master liale.Bui left beTruii l.er ain gray tail; T. 163 BURNS POEMS. And roars out, Weel done, Cutty-sark V well And in an instant all was dark : And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi angry fyke, fret When plundering herds assail their byke ; nest As open pussies mortal foes, the hare When, pop ! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When Catch the thief 1 resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi mony an eldritch screech and hollow. frightful scream Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thoull get thy fairin 1 Fok now theyll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu woman ! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane* o the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they darena cross ! dare not But ere the keystane she could make, Nae haet a tail she had to shake ! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon no

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