Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

* * *

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,
  O’er the swelling drumlie wave.

Such was my life’s deceitful morning,
  Such the pleasures I enjoy’d;
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
  A’ my flowery bliss destroy’d.
Tho’ fickle fortune has deceiv’d me,-
  She promised fair, and perform’d but ill;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav’d me,-
  I bear a heart shall support me still.

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