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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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Whan the word the Maister spak
Drave the wull-cat billows back;
Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang
To the yird the sodger thrang;
Ane comes frae his hert to mine
Ilka day to mak it fine.
Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw
Frae my hert ilk fog awa;
Wauk me up an' mak me strang,
Fill my hert wi' mony a sang,
Frae my lips again to stert
Fillin sails o' mony a hert,
Blawin them ower seas dividin
To the only place to bide in.
A SONG OF HOPE
I dinna ken what's come ower me!
There's a how whaur ance was a hert!
I never luik oot afore me,
An' a cry winna gar me stert;
There's naething nae mair to come ower me,
Blaw the win' frae ony airt!
For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock,
A hert whaur ance was a how;
An' o' joy there's no left a mealock—
Deid aiss whaur ance was a low!
For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock,
Lies a seed 'at winna grow.
It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie—
That's hoo there's a how i' my breist;
It's awa doon there wi' my Willie—
Gaed wi' him whan he was releast;
It's doon i' the green-grown hillie,
But I s' be efter it neist!
Come awa, nicht an' mornin,
Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan:
Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin!
Tak me til him as fest as ye can.
Come awa, nicht an' mornin,
Ye are wings o' a michty span!
For I ken he's luikin an' waitin,
Luikin aye doon as I clim;
An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin
I'stead o' gaein to him!
I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin,
I'll travel an' rin to him.
THE BURNIE
The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed
O' nonsense, an' wadna blin
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway,
An' a Rin, burnie, rin,
That water lap clear frae the dark til the day,
An' singin awa did spin,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude,
An' she loot a tear fa' in,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin.
Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways
There was but a drap to fa' in,
Sae laith did that burnie rin.
Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid,
An' it meltit awa within
The burnie 'at aye did rin.
Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin;
It ran an' ran till it left him deid,
An' syne it dried up i' the win':
That burnie nae mair did rin.
Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin,
Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid,
It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin—
But it tuik that burnie in.
HAME
The warl it's dottit wi' hames
As thick as gowans o' the green,
Drave the wull-cat billows back;
Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang
To the yird the sodger thrang;
Ane comes frae his hert to mine
Ilka day to mak it fine.
Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw
Frae my hert ilk fog awa;
Wauk me up an' mak me strang,
Fill my hert wi' mony a sang,
Frae my lips again to stert
Fillin sails o' mony a hert,
Blawin them ower seas dividin
To the only place to bide in.
A SONG OF HOPE
I dinna ken what's come ower me!
There's a how whaur ance was a hert!
I never luik oot afore me,
An' a cry winna gar me stert;
There's naething nae mair to come ower me,
Blaw the win' frae ony airt!
For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock,
A hert whaur ance was a how;
An' o' joy there's no left a mealock—
Deid aiss whaur ance was a low!
For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock,
Lies a seed 'at winna grow.
It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie—
That's hoo there's a how i' my breist;
It's awa doon there wi' my Willie—
Gaed wi' him whan he was releast;
It's doon i' the green-grown hillie,
But I s' be efter it neist!
Come awa, nicht an' mornin,
Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan:
Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin!
Tak me til him as fest as ye can.
Come awa, nicht an' mornin,
Ye are wings o' a michty span!
For I ken he's luikin an' waitin,
Luikin aye doon as I clim;
An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin
I'stead o' gaein to him!
I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin,
I'll travel an' rin to him.
THE BURNIE
The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed
O' nonsense, an' wadna blin
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway,
An' a Rin, burnie, rin,
That water lap clear frae the dark til the day,
An' singin awa did spin,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude,
An' she loot a tear fa' in,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin.
Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways
There was but a drap to fa' in,
Sae laith did that burnie rin.
Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid,
An' it meltit awa within
The burnie 'at aye did rin.
Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin;
It ran an' ran till it left him deid,
An' syne it dried up i' the win':
That burnie nae mair did rin.
Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin,
Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid,
It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin—
But it tuik that burnie in.
HAME
The warl it's dottit wi' hames
As thick as gowans o' the green,
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Отличные тесты, использую р работе как тренер спортивной школы.