Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/219
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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
163
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON.
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare,
As ever trode on airn;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
An' past the mouth o' Cairn.
As ever trode on airn;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
An' past the mouth o' Cairn.
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare,
An' rode thro' thick an' thin;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
An' wanting even the skin.
An' rode thro' thick an' thin;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
An' wanting even the skin.
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare,
An' ance she bare a priest;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
For Solway fish a feast.
An' ance she bare a priest;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
For Solway fish a feast.
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare,
An' the priest he rode her sair;
An' meikle oppress'd an' bruised she was,
As priest-rid cattle are.
An' the priest he rode her sair;
An' meikle oppress'd an' bruised she was,
As priest-rid cattle are.
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF
OF ONE OF MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS, WHICH SHE HAD GIVEN HIM.
Thou flattering mark of friendship kind
Still may thy pages call to mind
The dear, the beauteous donor:
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
Still may thy pages call to mind
The dear, the beauteous donor:
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
She showed her tastes refined and just
When she selected thee,
Yet deviating own I must,
For so approving me.
But kind still, I'll mind still
The giver in the gift;
I'll bless her and wiss her
A Friend above the Lift.
When she selected thee,
Yet deviating own I must,
For so approving me.
But kind still, I'll mind still
The giver in the gift;
I'll bless her and wiss her
A Friend above the Lift.
ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG
NAMED ECHO.
In wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now half-extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now half-extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.
Ye jarring, screeching things around,
Scream your discordant joys;
Now half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silent lies.
Scream your discordant joys;
Now half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silent lies.
ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE
IN A FAVORITE CHARACTER.
Sweet naïveté of feature,
Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature,
Thou art acting but thyself.
Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature,
Thou art acting but thyself.
Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,
Spurning nature, torturing art;
Loves and graces all rejected,
Then indeed thou'd'st act a part,
Spurning nature, torturing art;
Loves and graces all rejected,
Then indeed thou'd'st act a part,