The Humors Of The Glen — текст песни (Burns Robert)

The Humors of the Glen
(Robert Burns)
Their groves o` sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume,
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o`green breckan
Wi` th`burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom:
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen;
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A listening the linnet, oft wanders my Jean.
Tho` rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies,
And cauld, Caledonia`s blast on the wave;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they ? The haunt o`the tyrant and slave.
The slave`s spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi`disdain;
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love`s willing fetters, the chains o`his Jean.
Tune:Humors of the Glen (496)
filename[ HUMOFGLN
play.exe HUMOFGLN
ARB
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