File:Poems and songs (1875) (14777496365).jpg

Identifier: gri_33125009789757 (find matches)
Title: Poems & songs
Year: 1875 (1870s)
Authors: Burns, Robert, 1759-1796 Herdman, Robert, 1829-1888 Paterson, Robert, fl. 1860-1899
Subjects:
Publisher: London : William P. Nimmo
Contributing Library: Getty Research Institute
Digitizing Sponsor: Getty Research Institute

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Text Appearing Before Image:
mer day, For summer lightly drest,The youthful blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest;When Willie, wandring thro the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued,He gazd, he wishd, he feard, he blushd, And trembled where he stood. Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathd, Were seald in soft repose ;Her lips, still as she fragrant breathd, It richer dyd the rose.The springing lilies sweetly prest, Wild—wanton, kissd her rival breast;He gazd, he wishd, he feard, he blushd— His bosom ill at rest. Her robes, light waving in the breeze, Her tender limbs embrace !Her lovely form, her native ease, All harmony and grace !Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;He gazd, he wishd, he feard, he blushd, And sighd his very soul. As flies the partridge from the brake, On fear-inspired wings,So Nelly, starting, half-awake, Away affrighted springs :But Willie followd—as he should, He overtook her in the wood;He vowd, he prayd, he found the maid Forgiving all and good.
Text Appearing After Image:
SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. And years sinsyne hae oer us run,Like Logan to the simmer sun.But now thy flowry banks appearLike drumlie winter, dark and drear,While my dear lad maun face his faes,Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! Again the merry month o May Has made our hills and valleys gay; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers • Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, And evenings tears are tears of joy : My soul, delightless, a surveys, While Willies far frae Logan braes. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;Her faithfu mate will share her toil,Or wi his song her cares beguile :But I, wi my sweet nurslings here,Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,Pass widowd nights, and joyless days,While Willies far frae Logan braes. O wae upon you, men o state,That brethren rouse to deadly hate!As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,Sae may it on your heads return !How can your flinty hearts enjoyThe widows tears, the orphans cry !But s

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