Song, Composed In Spring
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns 作者:Robert Burns 投票推荐 加入书签 留言反馈
song, composed in spring
tune—“jockey's grey breeks.”
again rejoicing nature sees
her robe assume its vernal hues:
her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
all freshly steep'd in morning dews.
chorus.—and maun i still on menie doat,
and bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
for it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
an' it winna let a body be.
in vain to me the cowslips blaw,
in vain to me the vi'lets spring;
in vain to me in glen or shaw,
the mavis and the lintwhite sing.
and maun i still, c.
the merry ploughboy cheers his team,
wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
but life to me's a weary dream,
a dream of ane that never wauks.
and maun i still, c.
the wanton coot the water skims,
amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
the stately swan majestic swims,
and ev'ry thing is blest but i.
and maun i still, c.
the sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
and o'er the moorlands whistles shill:
wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
i meet him on the dewy hill.
and maun i still, c.
and when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
and mounts and sings on flittering wings,
a woe-worn ghaist i hameward glide.
and maun i still, c.
come winter, with thine angry howl,
and raging, bend the naked tree;
thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
when nature all is sad like me!
and maun i still, c.
tune—“jockey's grey breeks.”
again rejoicing nature sees
her robe assume its vernal hues:
her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
all freshly steep'd in morning dews.
chorus.—and maun i still on menie doat,
and bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
for it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
an' it winna let a body be.
in vain to me the cowslips blaw,
in vain to me the vi'lets spring;
in vain to me in glen or shaw,
the mavis and the lintwhite sing.
and maun i still, c.
the merry ploughboy cheers his team,
wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
but life to me's a weary dream,
a dream of ane that never wauks.
and maun i still, c.
the wanton coot the water skims,
amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
the stately swan majestic swims,
and ev'ry thing is blest but i.
and maun i still, c.
the sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
and o'er the moorlands whistles shill:
wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
i meet him on the dewy hill.
and maun i still, c.
and when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
and mounts and sings on flittering wings,
a woe-worn ghaist i hameward glide.
and maun i still, c.
come winter, with thine angry howl,
and raging, bend the naked tree;
thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
when nature all is sad like me!
and maun i still, c.