Luyện nghe bài hát The Lass O Ballochmyle

The O' Ballochmyle
(Robert Burns)
'Twas even: the dewy were green,
On every blade the hang,
The zeghyr wanton'd the bean,
An bore its fragrant alang,
In glen the mavis sang,
AII list'ning seem'd the while,
where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the o Ballochmyle.
With careless step I stray'd,
My heart in Nature's joy,
When, musing in a glade,
A maiden I chanc'd to spy.
Her look was the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's smile.
whisper'd, passing by:-
'Behold the o Ballochmyle!'
Fair is the morn in May
And is night in autumn mild,
When thro the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely
But woman, darling child -
all her charms she does compile -
Even there her works are foil'd
By the bonie o Ballochmyle.
0, had she a country maid,
And I the happy swain,
Tho in the lowest shed
That ever on Scotia's plain!
Thro weary winter's wind and
joy, with rapture, I would toil,
And to my bosom strain
The bonie o Ballochmyle!
Then Pride climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where and honours lofty shine;
And of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward the Indian mine!
Give me the cot the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the
And ev'ry day have joys
With the lass o Ballochmyle.
Tune: Banks (89)
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