Luyện nghe bài hát I Sing Of A Whistle

I OF A WHISTLE
(Robert Burns)
I sing of a Whistle, a of worth,
I sing of' a Whistle, the of the North,
Was brought to the of our good Scottish king,
And long with this all Scotland shall ring.
Old Loda*, still the arm of Fingal,
The god of the sends down from his hall-
Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er,
'And drink to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me more!'
Old have sung, and old chronicles tell,
champions ventured, what champions fell;
The son of great was conqueror still,
And on the Whistle their requiem shrill.
Till Robert, the of the Cairn and the Scaur,
at the bottle, unconquered in war,
He drank his god-ship as deep as the sea,
No of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.
Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained,
Which now in his has for ages remained;
Till three chieftains, and all of his blood,
The jovial contest again renewed.
Three joyous good fellows with hearts of flaw;
so famous for wit, worth, and law;
And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old
And gallant Sir Robert, in old wines.
Craigdarroch began with a tongue as oil,
Desiring Glenriddel to up the spoil;
Or else he would the heads of the clan,
And once more, in claret, try was the man.
'By the of the ancients!'Glenriddel replies,
'Before I so glorious a prize,
'I,ll conjure the ghost of the Rorie More*,
'And his horn with him twenty times o'er.'
A was selected to witness the fray,
And tell future ages the feats of the
A who detested all sadness and spleen,
And wished that Pamassus a had been.
The being over, the claret they ply,
And every new cork is a new of joy;
In the of old friendship and kindred so set,
And the bands grew the the more they were wet.
Gay Pleasure ran as bumpers ran o'er;
Bright Phoebus witnessed so joyous a corps,
And vowed that to leave he was quite forlorn,
Till hinted he'd see them next morn.
Six bottles a-piece had well out the night,
gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,
Turned in one bumper a bottle of red,
And swore 'twas the way that ancestor did.
worthy Glernriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare, ungodly, wage;
A ruling elder to wallow in wine!
He left the business to folks less divine.
The gallant Sir Robert hard to the end;
But who can Fate and Quart Bumpers contend?
Though Fate said, a hero should in light;
So uprose bright - and down fell the kinght.
Next uprose our Bard, a prophet in drink:-
'Craigdarroch, thou'lt when creation shall sink!
if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme,
'Come -one bottle more- and have at the !
'Thy line, have struggled for freedom with Bruce
'Shall heroes and ever produce:
'So thine be the laurel, and be the bay
field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!'
tune: The (272)
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