Robert Burns (Роберт Бернс)

Phillis the Fair

WHILE larks with little wing
  Fann’d the pure air,
Tasting the breathing spring,
  Forth I did fare:
Gay the sun’s golden eye
Peep’d o’er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
  Phillis the fair.

In each bird’s careless song
  Glad did I share;
While you wild flowers among,
  Chance led me there:
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
  Phillis the fair.

Down in a shady walk,
  Doves cooing were,
I mark’d the cruel hawk
  Caught in a snare:
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
  Phillis the fair.

1. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
2. Blythe Was She
3. Farewell to Ballochmyle
4. Lines Written under the Picture of Miss Burns
5. On a Bank of Flowers

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