Luyện nghe bài hát The Lass O Ballochmyle

The Lass O'
(Robert Burns)
even: the dewy fields were green,
On blade the pearls hang,
The zeghyr wanton'd the bean,
An bore its sweets alang,
In ev'ry glen the sang,
AII Nature seem'd the while,
Except where echoes rang,
the braes o Ballochmyle.
With step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in joy,
When, musing in a glade,
A fair I chanc'd to spy.
Her look was the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's smile.
Perfection whisper'd, passing
'Behold the o Ballochmyle!'
is the morn in flowery May
And sweet is in autumn mild,
roving thro the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the wild;
But woman, Nature's darling -
There all her she does compile -
Even there her other works are
By the bonie o Ballochmyle.
0, had she a country maid,
And I the happy swain,
Tho shelter'd in the shed
That rose on Scotia's plain!
Thro weary winter's and rain
With joy, with rapture, I toil,
And nightly to my bosom
The bonie o Ballochmyle!
Then Pride might the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and lofty shine;
And of gold might tempt the deep,
Or seek the Indian mine!
Give me the cot the pine,
To the flocks or till the soil;
And ev'ry day have joys
With the bonie o Ballochmyle.
Tune: Banks (89)
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