Robert Burns (Роберт Бернс)

* * *

SWEET fa’s the eve on Craigie-burn,
  And blythe awakes the morrow,
But a’ the pride o’ spring’s return
  Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
  I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
  And care his bosom wringing?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
  Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
  If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,
  If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fa’ frae the tree,
  Around my grave they’ll wither.

1. The Lass of Ecclefechan
2. The Ordination
3. On Cessnock Banks
4. Sae Far Awa
5. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face

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