Luyện nghe bài hát Fete Champetre

FETE
(Robert Burns)
O, wha will to Stephen's House,
To do our errands there,
O, wha to Saint Stephen's House
O, th' merry of Ayr, man?
Or will ye a man-o-law?
Or will ye send a
Or him wha led Scotland a'
The meikle
Come, ye court a noble lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds,
For Worth and Honour pawn word.
Their shall be Glencaird's, man.
Ane gies them coin, ane them wine,
Anither them clatter;
Anbank, wha the ladies' taste,
He a Fete Champetre.
When Love and Beauty the news
The gay amang, man,
Where, gathering flowers, and bowers,
They the blackbird's sang, man:
A vow, seal'd it with a kiss,
Sir Polities to
As alone, the patent bliss,
To hold a Champetre.
Then Mirth on gleesome wing,
O'er and dale she flew, man;
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk spring,
Ilk and shaw she knew, man
She summon'd every sprite,
That by wood or water,
On th' bonie of Ayr to meet,
And this Fete Champetre.
Cauld Boreas, wi his boisterous
Were bound to stakes like kye,
And Cynthia's ear, o fu,
up the starry sky, man:
Reflected dwell in the streams,
Or down the current
The western breeze through the trees
To this Fete Champetre.
How many a sae gaily floats,
What jewels glance, man,
To harmony's notes,
As the mazy dance, man!
The wood, the winding flood,
Like did glitter,
angels met at Adam's yett
To hold their Champetre.
Politics came there, to mix
And his ether-stane, man,
He circled round the ground,
But found he nane, man:
He blush'd for shame, he his name,
Forswore it, letter,
Wi humble prayer to join and
This festive Champetre.
(313)

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