Poems and Songs of Robert Burns. Robert Burns
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Название: Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

Автор: Robert Burns

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4057664117434

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ By a falling crystal stream:

       Straight the sky grew black and daring;

       Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;

       Tress with aged arms were warring,

       O'er the swelling drumlie wave.

       Such was my life's deceitful morning,

       Such the pleasures I enjoyed:

       But lang or noon, loud tempests storming

       A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.

       Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me—

       She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill,

       Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me—

       I bear a heart shall support me still.

       Table of Contents

      Tune—“Go from my window, Love, do.”

      The sun he is sunk in the west,

       All creatures retired to rest,

       While here I sit, all sore beset,

       With sorrow, grief, and woe:

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       The prosperous man is asleep,

       Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;

       But Misery and I must watch

       The surly tempest blow:

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       There lies the dear partner of my breast;

       Her cares for a moment at rest:

       Must I see thee, my youthful pride,

       Thus brought so very low!

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       There lie my sweet babies in her arms;

       No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;

       But for their sake my heart does ache,

       With many a bitter throe:

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       I once was by Fortune carest:

       I once could relieve the distrest:

       Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd

       My fate will scarce bestow:

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       No comfort, no comfort I have!

       How welcome to me were the grave!

       But then my wife and children dear—

       O, wither would they go!

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

       O whither, O whither shall I turn!

       All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!

       For, in this world, Rest or Peace

       I never more shall know!

       And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

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      All devil as I am—a damned wretch,

       A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting villain,

       Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;

       And with sincere but unavailing sighs

       I view the helpless children of distress:

       With tears indignant I behold the oppressor

       Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,

       Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.—

       Ev'n you, ye hapless crew! I pity you;

       Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity;

       Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds,

       Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin.

       Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven,

       I had been driven forth like you forlorn,

       The most detested, worthless wretch among you!

       O injured God! Thy goodness has endow'd me

       With talents passing most of my compeers,

       Which I in just proportion have abused—

       As far surpassing other common villains

       As Thou in natural parts has given me more.

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      If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,

       Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;

       She kens her father is a laird,

       And she forsooth's a leddy.

       There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,

       Besides a handsome fortune:

       Wha canna win her in a night,

       Has little art in courtin'.

       Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,

       And tak a look o' Mysie;

       She's dour and din, a deil within,

       But aiblins she may please ye.

       If she be shy, her sister try,

       Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny;

       If СКАЧАТЬ