Luyện nghe bài hát Fete Champetre

FETE
(Robert Burns)
O, wha will to Saint House,
To do our errands there,
O, wha will to Saint House
O, th' merry of Ayr, man?
Or ye send a man-o-law?
Or will ye a sodger?
Or him wha led Scotland a'
The Ursa-Major?
Come, will ye court a lord,
Or buy a o' lairds, man?
For Worth and pawn their word.
Their shall be Glencaird's, man.
Ane gies them coin, ane them wine,
Anither gies clatter;
Anbank, wha the ladies' taste,
He a Fete Champetre.
When Love and Beauty heard the
The gay amang, man,
Where, flowers, and busking bowers,
They the blackbird's sang, man:
A vow, seal'd it with a kiss,
Sir Polities to
As their alone, the bliss,
To hold a Champetre.
Then Mirth on gleesome wing,
hill and dale she flew, man;
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk spring,
Ilk and shaw she knew, man
She summon'd social sprite,
sports by wood or water,
On th' banks of Ayr to meet,
And keep this Champetre.
Boreas, wi his boisterous crew
Were bound to like kye, man;
And ear, o silver fu,
up the starry sky, man:
Reflected beams in the streams,
Or the current shatter;
The breeze steals through the trees
To view this Champetre.
How many a sae gaily floats,
What sparkling glance, man,
To enchanting notes,
As moves the dance, man!
The wood, the winding flood,
Paradise did glitter,
When angels met at yett
To hold their Champetre.
When Politics there, to mix
And his ether-stane, man,
He circled round the ground,
But entrance he nane, man:
He for shame, he quat his name,
Forswore it, letter,
Wi prayer to join and share
This festive Champetre.
(313)

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