Роберт Таннахилл (Robert Tannahill)

Song (The evening sun's gaen down the west)

The evening sun's gaen down the west,
⁠     The birds sit nodding on the tree;
All nature now prepares for rest,
⁠     But rest prepared there's none for me.
The trumpet sounds to war's alarms,
     ⁠The drums they beat, the fifes they play,—
Come, Mary, cheer me wi' thy charms,
⁠     For the morn I will be far away.

⁠      Good night and joy, good night and joy,
           ⁠Good night and joy be wi' you a';
⁠      For since it's so that I must go,
⁠           Good night and joy be wi' you a'!

I grieve to leave my comrades dear,
⁠     I mourn to leave my native shore,—
To leave my aged parents here,
⁠     And the bonnie lass whom I adore.
But tender thoughts maun now be hush'd,
     ⁠When danger calls I must obey.—
The transport waits us on the coast,
⁠     And the morn I will be far away.
          ⁠Good night and joy, &c.

Adieu, dear Scotia's sea-beat coast!
⁠     Though bleak and drear thy mountains be,
When on the heaving ocean tost,
⁠     I'll cast a wishful look to thee!
And now, dear Mary, fare thee well!
     ⁠May Providence thy guardian be!
Or in the camp, or on the field,
     ⁠I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee!
⁠          Good night and joy, &c. 

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