Luyện nghe bài hát I Sing Of A Whistle

I OF A WHISTLE
(Robert Burns)
I sing of a Whistle, a of worth,
I of' a Whistle, the pride of the North,
Was brought to the of our good Scottish king,
And long this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
Old Loda*, rueing the arm of Fingal,
The god of the bottle sends from his hall-
'This Whistle's your challenge, to get o'er,
drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me more!'
Old poets have sung, and old tell,
What ventured, what champions fell;
The son of great was conqueror still,
And blew on the Whistle requiem shrill.
Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur,
Unmatched at the bottle, in war,
He drank his god-ship as deep as the sea,
No tide of the e'er drunker than he.
Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained,
Which now in his house has for remained;
three noble chieftains, and all of his blood,
The jovial contest have renewed.
Three joyous fellows with hearts clear of flaw;
Craigdarroch so for wit, worth, and law;
And trusty Glenriddel, so in old coins;
And Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.
Craigdarroch began a tongue smooth as oil,
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the
Or else he muster the heads of the clan,
And more, in claret, try which was the man.
'By the of the ancients!'Glenriddel replies,
I surrender so glorious a prize,
'I,ll conjure the ghost of the great More*,
'And his horn with him twenty times o'er.'
A bard was selected to the fray,
And tell ages the feats of the day;
A who detested all sadness and spleen,
And wished Pamassus a vineyard had been.
The dinner being over, the claret ply,
And new cork is a new spring of joy;
In the of old friendship and kindred so set,
And the bands grew the the more they were wet.
Gay ran riot as bumpers ran o'er;
Bright ne'er witnessed so joyous a corps,
And vowed that to them he was quite forlorn,
Till Cynthia hinted see them next morn.
Six bottles had well wore out the night,
When gallant Sir Robert, to the fight,
Turned o'er in one bumper a of red,
And swore 'twas the way that ancestor did.
worthy Glernriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare, ungodly, wage;
A high elder to wallow in wine!
He the foul business to folks less divine.
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the
But who can with Fate and Quart Bumpers
Though Fate said, a hero should in light;
So uprose bright Phoebus - and fell the kinght.
Next uprose our Bard, like a in drink:-
'Craigdarroch, soar when creation shall sink!
'But if would flourish immortal in rhyme,
'Come -one bottle more- and have at the !
'Thy line, that have struggled for freedom Bruce
heroes and patriots ever produce:
'So be the laurel, and mine be the bay
'The field hast won, by yon bright god of day!'
tune: The (272)
SNGWHSTL
play.exe
ARB
BOUNDARY===