A red red Rose О my Luve’s like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June; 0 my Luve’s like the melodie That’S’ sweetly play’d in tune.— As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will love thee still, my Dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.— Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: 1 will love thee still, my Dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.— And fare thee weel, my only Luve! And fare thee weel, a while! And I will … Читать далее →

Song Composed In August I Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring wings Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my charmer. II The partridge loves the fruitful fells, The plover loves the mountains; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells, The soaring hern the fountains: Thro’ lofty groves the cushat roves, The path of man to shun it; The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush, The spreading thorn the linnet. III Thus … Читать далее →

Thou Gloomy December Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee wi’ sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember- Parting wi’ Nancy, oh, ne’er to meet mair! Fond lovers’ parting is sweet, painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever! Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure! Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf o’ the summer is flown; Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Till my last hope and last comfort is gone. Still … Читать далее →