Robert Burns (Роберт Бернс)

* * *

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o'bonie blue.

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-white-
It was her een sae bonie blue.

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd;
She charm'd my soul I wist na how;
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een so bonie blue.

But "spare to speak, and spare to speed;"
She'll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonie blue. 

• немецкий (German)
• чешский (Czech)

1. My Chloris
2. Canst Thou Leave Me Thus?
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Stay My Charmer
5. Epistle to John Lapraix, An Old Scottish Bard

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