По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain!
The Deil's forhooit his ain!
His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,
For the Deil's forhooit his ain.
THE AULD FISHER
There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa',
An' luikit oot ower the sea;
The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a',
But the tear stude in his e'e.
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa!
An' it's, oh to win awa
Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide,
An' God is the father o' a'!
Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there
A' i' the boatie gaed doon;
An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair,
Sae I hinna the chance to droon!
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa! &c.
An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert,
An' she easit hersel awa;
But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert,
An' sae the sighs maun blaw.
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa! &c.
Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit,
For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea;
An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit
'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee!
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa!
An' it's, oh to win awa
Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide,
An' God is the father o' a'!
THE HERD AND THE MAVIS
"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie,
"What gars ye sing sae lood?"
"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie,
The worms for my daily food."
An' aye he sang, an' better he sang,
An' the worms creepit in an' oot;
An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang,
An' still he carolled stoot.
"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd;
"They comena for your sang!"
"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird,
"Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!"
But aye &c.
"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile,
Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?"
"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile
My wee things oot o' her eggs."
An' aye &c.
"The mistress is plenty for that same gear
Though ye sangna air nor late!"
"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear.
An' open the kirkyard-gate."
An' aye &c.
"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune,
Nor a wave ower san' that flows,
Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune,
An' aneth the roses in rows;
An' aye &c.
But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain,
Though ye hae o' notes a feck,
To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain
As to lift the muckle sneck!
An' aye &c.
An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back
Frae the arms o' the bonny man
Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack,
An' her cries to the bairnie wan!
An' aye &c.
An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd,
"I fear what ye micht say neist!"
"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird,
"To see the thouchts i' my breist!"
The Deil's forhooit his ain!
His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,
For the Deil's forhooit his ain.
THE AULD FISHER
There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa',
An' luikit oot ower the sea;
The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a',
But the tear stude in his e'e.
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa!
An' it's, oh to win awa
Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide,
An' God is the father o' a'!
Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there
A' i' the boatie gaed doon;
An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair,
Sae I hinna the chance to droon!
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa! &c.
An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert,
An' she easit hersel awa;
But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert,
An' sae the sighs maun blaw.
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa! &c.
Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit,
For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea;
An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit
'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee!
An' it's—oh to win awa, awa!
An' it's, oh to win awa
Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide,
An' God is the father o' a'!
THE HERD AND THE MAVIS
"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie,
"What gars ye sing sae lood?"
"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie,
The worms for my daily food."
An' aye he sang, an' better he sang,
An' the worms creepit in an' oot;
An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang,
An' still he carolled stoot.
"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd;
"They comena for your sang!"
"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird,
"Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!"
But aye &c.
"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile,
Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?"
"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile
My wee things oot o' her eggs."
An' aye &c.
"The mistress is plenty for that same gear
Though ye sangna air nor late!"
"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear.
An' open the kirkyard-gate."
An' aye &c.
"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune,
Nor a wave ower san' that flows,
Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune,
An' aneth the roses in rows;
An' aye &c.
But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain,
Though ye hae o' notes a feck,
To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain
As to lift the muckle sneck!
An' aye &c.
An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back
Frae the arms o' the bonny man
Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack,
An' her cries to the bairnie wan!
An' aye &c.
An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd,
"I fear what ye micht say neist!"
"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird,
"To see the thouchts i' my breist!"
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
книга нужная