Epistle To William Simson（3 / 4）
aft bure the gree, as story tells,
frae suthron billies.
at wallace' name, what scottish blood
but boils up in a spring-tide flood!
oft have our fearless fathers strode
by wallace' side,
still pressing onward, red-wat-shod,
or glorious died!
o, sweet are coila's haughs an' woods,
when lintwhites chant amang the buds,
and jinkin hares, in amorous whids,
their loves enjoy;
while thro' the braes the cushat croods
with wailfu' cry!
ev'n winter bleak has charms to me,
when winds rave thro' the naked tree;
or frosts on hills of ochiltree
are hoary gray;
or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
dark'ning the day!
o nature! a' thy shews an' forms
to feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!
whether the summer kindly warms,
wi' life an light;
or winter howls, in gusty storms,
the lang, dark night!
the muse, nae poet ever fand her,
till by himsel he learn'd to wander,
adown some trottin burn's meander,
an' no think lang: ↑返回顶部↑
frae suthron billies.
at wallace' name, what scottish blood
but boils up in a spring-tide flood!
oft have our fearless fathers strode
by wallace' side,
still pressing onward, red-wat-shod,
or glorious died!
o, sweet are coila's haughs an' woods,
when lintwhites chant amang the buds,
and jinkin hares, in amorous whids,
their loves enjoy;
while thro' the braes the cushat croods
with wailfu' cry!
ev'n winter bleak has charms to me,
when winds rave thro' the naked tree;
or frosts on hills of ochiltree
are hoary gray;
or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
dark'ning the day!
o nature! a' thy shews an' forms
to feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!
whether the summer kindly warms,
wi' life an light;
or winter howls, in gusty storms,
the lang, dark night!
the muse, nae poet ever fand her,
till by himsel he learn'd to wander,
adown some trottin burn's meander,
an' no think lang: ↑返回顶部↑