Текст (слова) песни: Burns Robert - The Humors Of The Glen
The Humors of the Glen (Robert Burns) Their groves o` sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o`green breckan Wi` th`burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom: Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A listening the linnet, oft wanders my Jean. Tho` rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies, And cauld, Caledonia`s blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they ? The haunt o`the tyrant and slave. The slave`s spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi`disdain; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love`s willing fetters, the chains o`his Jean. Tune:Humors of the Glen (496) filename[ HUMOFGLN play.exe HUMOFGLN ARB ===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY===
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