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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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Be like the voice of brook unseen
Among the stones and flowers;
A joyful voice though born so low,
And making all its neighbours glad;
Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow
Even when the winds are sad.
So, strengthen in a peaceful home,
And daily deeper meanings bear;
And when life's wildernesses come
Be brave and faithful there.
Try all the glorious magic range,
Worship, forgive, console, rejoice,
Until the last and sweetest change—
So live and grow, dear voice.
THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS
Come
Home.
SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS
ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE
Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae:
What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae,
For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day,
And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay?
Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud,
And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '.
They lo'ed are anither, and said their say,
But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae!
O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
Bidena ayont the hill!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht,
For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht:
O lassie, come ower the hill!
Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace,
And no a sel ava!
I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face,
O' my thouchts and mysel and a';
I'm sick o' the warl' and a';
The win' gangs by wi' a hiss;
Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa'
But my weary hert they miss!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
Bidena ayont the hill! &c.
For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid,
And the sunlicht o' yer hair,
The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid,
I wud be mysel nae mair.
I wud be mysel nae mair,
Filled o' the sole remeid,
Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair,
Killed by yer body and heid!
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa'
O' my bonnie departin dame;
But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma'
I micht bide it—the weary same!
Noo, sick o' my body and name
Whan it lifts its upsettin heid,
I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame
As gien they war roun the deid.
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you
I wud ring my ain deid knell;
The spectre wud melt, shot through and through
Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel!
By the shine o' yer sunny sel,
By the licht aneth yer broo
I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell,
And live again in you!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
For I want ye sair the nicht!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht,
For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht:
O lassie, come ower the hill!
Among the stones and flowers;
A joyful voice though born so low,
And making all its neighbours glad;
Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow
Even when the winds are sad.
So, strengthen in a peaceful home,
And daily deeper meanings bear;
And when life's wildernesses come
Be brave and faithful there.
Try all the glorious magic range,
Worship, forgive, console, rejoice,
Until the last and sweetest change—
So live and grow, dear voice.
THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS
Come
Home.
SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS
ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE
Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae:
What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae,
For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day,
And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay?
Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud,
And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '.
They lo'ed are anither, and said their say,
But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae!
O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
Bidena ayont the hill!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht,
For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht:
O lassie, come ower the hill!
Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace,
And no a sel ava!
I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face,
O' my thouchts and mysel and a';
I'm sick o' the warl' and a';
The win' gangs by wi' a hiss;
Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa'
But my weary hert they miss!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
Bidena ayont the hill! &c.
For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid,
And the sunlicht o' yer hair,
The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid,
I wud be mysel nae mair.
I wud be mysel nae mair,
Filled o' the sole remeid,
Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair,
Killed by yer body and heid!
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa'
O' my bonnie departin dame;
But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma'
I micht bide it—the weary same!
Noo, sick o' my body and name
Whan it lifts its upsettin heid,
I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame
As gien they war roun the deid.
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you
I wud ring my ain deid knell;
The spectre wud melt, shot through and through
Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel!
By the shine o' yer sunny sel,
By the licht aneth yer broo
I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell,
And live again in you!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
For I want ye sair the nicht!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht,
For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht:
O lassie, come ower the hill!
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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очень хорошая книга для студентов и учителей