English

The fight was at its hottest,
The battle 'gainst the wrong;
The valiant in the contest,
Both vigorous and strong.
Engaged in deadly conflict,
A solid phalanx stood,
A breastworks made of soldiers,
Even soldiers unto God.

Amidst the clang of armor,
And crash of cannon's roar,
There came a sound which echoed,
And spread from shore to shore.
Andrew Brown has fallen,
No confiscate was he;
A captain bold and fearless —
No thought but victory.

He's just received promotion,

Fifteen foresters in the Braid alow,
And they are wondrous fell;
To get a drop of Johnny's heart-bluid,
They would sink a' their souls to hell.

Johnny Cock has gotten word of this,
And he is wondrous keen;
He['s] custan off the red scarlet,
And on the Linkum green.

And he is ridden oer muir and muss,
And over mountains high,
Till he came to yon wan water,
And there Johnny Cock did lie.

They have ridden oer muir and muss,
And over mountains high,
Till they met wi' an old palmer,

The fields were silent, and the woodland drear,
The moon had set, and clouds hid all the stars;
And blindly, when a footfall met my ear,
I reached across the bars.

And swift as thought this hand was clasped in thine,
Though darkness hung around us and above;
Not guided by uncertain fate to mine,
But by the law of love.

I know not which of us may first go hence
And leave the other to be brave alone,
Unable to dispel the shadows dense
That veil the life unknown;

The fields are chill; the sparse rain has stopped;
The colors of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

Fiddle-de-dee!
Grasshoppers three,
Rollicking over the meadow;
Scarcely the grass,
Bends as they pass,
So fairy-light is their tread, O!

Said Grasshopper One,
" The summer's begun,
This sunshine is driving me crazy! "
Said Grasshopper Two,
" I feel just like you! "
And leapt to the top of a daisy.

" Please wait for me! "
Cried Grasshopper Three,
" My legs are ready for hopping! "
So grasshoppers three,
Fiddle-de-dee,

Fiametta walks under the quincebuds
In a gown the color of flowers;
Her small breasts shine through the silken stuff
Like raindrops after showers
The green hem of her dress is silk, but duller
Than her eyes' green color.

Her shadow restores the grass's green—
Where the sun had gilded it;
The air has given her copper hair
The sanguine that was requisite.
Whatever her flaws, my lady
Has no fault in her young body.

She leans with her long slender arms
To pull down morning upon her—

Few words are best; I wish you well;
Bethel, I'm told, will soon be here;
Some morning walks along the Mall,
And evening friends, will end the year.

If, in this interval between
The falling leaf and coming frost,
You please to see, on Twickenham Green,
Your friend, your poet, and your host,

For three whole days you here may rest
From office, business, news, and strife:
And (what most folks would think a jest)
Want nothing else, except your wife.

A few days before you died, death
cast her eye on one of your own age:
at twenty, you were a student, he a working lad,
you noble and rich, he a plebeian son of toil:
but those days you lived together illumined with a flame
of gold our ancient Roma, restoring her to youth again.
— I've just seen his corpse, poor old Zucchetto's.
Drunk, he was roaming the dark streets round the markets
and a tram coming from San Paolo ran him down,
dragging him along the rails under the plane trees:

Feel so low-down an' sad Lawd,
Feel so low-down an' sad Lawd,
Lost ev'ry thing I ever had
Ain't got no friend nowhere Lawd,
Ain't got no friend nowhere Lawd,
All by myself no one to care.

I met a man in my own home town, in my own hometown,
I met a man in my own home town,
Coaxed me away now he has thrown me down.

I want to see that Indian River shore, Indian River shore,
I want to see that Indian River shore,
IIf I get back I'll never leave no more.

‘A featherd fowl 's in your orchard, father,
O dear, but it sings sweet!
What would I give, my father dear,
That bonnie bird to meet!’
What would I give, etc.

‘O hold your tongue, my daughter Mary,
Let a' your folly be;
There 's six Scots lords tomorrow, child,
That will a' dine wi me,
And ye maun serve them a', Mary,
As 't were for meat and fee.’

She served them up, sae has she down,
The footmen a' the same,
But her mind was aye on Love Robbie,
Stood out below the rain.