Written by
Federico García Lorca |
Voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Voces antiguas que cercan
voz de clavel varonil.
Les clav? sobre las botas
mordiscos de jabal?.
En la lucha daba saltos
jabonados de delf?n.
Ba?o con sangre enemiga
su corbata carmes?,
pero eran cuatro pu?ales
y tuvo que sucumbir.
Cuando las estrellas clavan
rejones al agua gris,
cuando los erales sue?an
ver?nicas de alhel?,
voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
Antonio Torres Heredia,
Camborio de dura crin,
moreno de verde luna,
voz de clavel varonil:
?qui?n te ha quitado la vida
cerca del Guadalquivir?
Mis cuatro primos Heredias
hijos de Benamej?.
Lo que en otros no envidiaban,
ya lo envidiaban en m?.
Zapatos color corinto,
medallones de marfil,
y este cutis amasado
con aceituna y jazm?n.
?Ay Anto?ito el Camborio,
digno de una Emperatriz!
Acu?rate de la Virgen
porque te vas a morir.
?Ay Federico Garc?a,
llama a la Guardia Civil!
Ya mi talle se ha quebrado
como ca?a de ma?z.
Tres golpes de sangre tuvo
y se muri? de perfil.
Viva moneda que nunca
se volver? a repetir.
Un ?ngel marchoso pone
su cabeza en un coj?n.
Otros de rubor cansado,
encendieron un candil.
Y cuando los cuatro primos
llegan a Benamej?,
voces de muerte cesaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
|
Written by
Robert Burns |
O LUVE will venture in where it daur na weel be seen,
O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been;
But I will doun yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,
And a’ to pu’ a Posie to my ain dear May.
The primrose I will pu’, the firstling o’ the year,
And I will pu’ the pink, the emblem o’ my dear;
For she’s the pink o’ womankind, and blooms without a peer,
And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
I’ll pu’ the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For it’s like a baumy kiss o’ her sweet, bonie mou;
The hyacinth’s for constancy wi’ its unchanging blue,
And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I’ll place the lily there;
The daisy’s for simplicity and unaffected air,
And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The hawthorn I will pu’, wi’ its locks o’ siller gray,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o’ day;
But the songster’s nest within the bush I winna tak away
And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The woodbine I will pu’, when the e’ening star is near,
And the diamond draps o’ dew shall be her een sae clear;
The violet’s for modesty, which weel she fa’s to wear,
And a’ to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
I’ll tie the Posie round wi’ the silken band o’ luve,
And I’ll place it in her breast, and I’ll swear by a’ above,
That to my latest draught o’ life the band shall ne’er remove,
And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May.
|
Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
Bonnie Clara, will you go to the bonnie Sidlaw hills
And pu' the blooming heather, and drink from their rills?
There the cranberries among the heather grow,
Believe me, dear Clara, as black as the crow.
Chorus --
Then, bonnie Clara, will you go
And wander with me to and fro?
And with joy our hearts will o'erflow
When we go to the bonnie Sidlaws O.
And the rabbits and hares sport in mirthful glee
In the beautiful woods of Glen Ogilvy,
And innocent trout do sport and play
In the little rivulet of Glen Ogilvy all the day.
Chorus
And in the bonnie woods of Sidlaw the blackbird doth sing,
Making the woodlands with his notes to ring,
Which ought to make a dull heart feel gay,
And help to oheer us on our way.
Chorus
And there the innocent sheep are to be seen
Browsing on the purple heather and pastures green;
And the shepherd can be heard shouting to his dog
As he chases the sheep from out of the bog.
Chorus
And from the tops of the Sidlaws can be seen
The beautiful Howe of Strathmore with its trees and shrubberies green;
Likewise Lochee and its spinning mills
Can be seen on a clear day from the Sidlaw hills.
Chorus
Therefore, bonnie Clara, let's away
To Sidlaw hills without delay,
And pu' the cranberries and bonnie blooming heather
While we wander to and fro on the Sidlaws together.
Chorus
There the lovers can enjoy themselves free from care
By viewing the hilly scenery and inhaling the fresh air,
And return home at night with their hearts full of glee
After viewing the beauties of the Sidlaw hills and Glen Ogilvy.
|