Robert Burns. Songs. THE BANKS O' DOON. Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care! Thou 'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys, Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And fondly sae did I o' mine. But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me. Robert Burns, geb. in Ayrshire den 29. Januar 1759, Lieder. Die Ufer des Doon. Ihr Uferhäng' am holden Doon, Wie könnt ihr blühn so frisch und schön; Wie könnt ihr fingen, ihr Vöglein traut, Und seht doch mein Herz in Gram vergehn! O flötende Umsel im blühenden Dorn, Du brichst mein Herz mit dem zärtlichen Ton: Du mahnst mich an Tage der Lieb' und Lust, Der Lieb' und Lust - für immer entflohn! Oft wandert' ich am holden Doon, Doch ach, den Dorn, den Dorn er mir ließ! I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING. I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, Gaily in the sunny beam; List'ning to the wild birds singing, By a falling, crystal stream; Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; Trees with aged arms were warring, Such was my life's deceitful morning, But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, (She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;) Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, I bear a heart shall support me still. Mir träumt', ich lag an blumigem Hange. Mir träumt, ich lag an blumigem Hange, Rasend im Walde des Sturmes Wuth; Ob der schlammig schwellenden Fluth. Ein Bild der Freuden, die mir blühten Doch ob das Schicksal mir gelogen, (Es hielt nur schlecht, was es hold versprach) Um Glück und Hoffnung mich betrogen, Mein Herz ist fest und trogt dem Schlag. THE BONNIE WEE THING. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. Wishfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine! Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine! |