Luyện nghe bài hát Fete Champetre

FETE
(Robert Burns)
O, wha to Saint Stephen's House,
To do our there, man?
O, wha will to Saint Stephen's
O, th' lads of Ayr, man?
Or will ye a man-o-law?
Or will ye send a
Or him wha led o'er a'
The meikle
Come, will ye court a lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds,
For Worth and pawn their word.
Their vote be Glencaird's, man.
Ane gies them coin, ane them wine,
Anither gies clatter;
Anbank, wha guess'd the taste,
He gies a Champetre.
Love and Beauty heard the news
The gay amang, man,
Where, flowers, and busking bowers,
They heard the blackbird's sang,
A vow, seal'd it with a kiss,
Sir Polities to
As alone, the patent bliss,
To hold a Champetre.
Then mounted Mirth on wing,
hill and dale she flew, man;
Ilk burn, ilk crystal spring,
Ilk and shaw she knew, man
She every social sprite,
That by wood or water,
On th' bonie of Ayr to meet,
And this Fete Champetre.
Cauld Boreas, wi his boisterous
Were bound to stakes like kye,
And ear, o silver fu,
Clamb up the starry sky,
beams dwell in the streams,
Or down the shatter;
The breeze steals through the trees
To view this Champetre.
How many a robe sae floats,
What jewels glance, man,
To harmony's notes,
As the mazy dance, man!
The echoing wood, the flood,
Paradise did glitter,
When angels met at Adam's
To their Fete Champetre.
When came there, to mix
And his ether-stane, man,
He circled the magic ground,
But found he nane, man:
He blush'd for shame, he his name,
Forswore it, letter,
Wi humble prayer to join and
This festive Champetre.
(313)

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