Beginners
Experts
Burns Supper
Top Features
Discussion Forum
Newsletter
Poems & Songs
The Letters
Federation
E- Membership
Schools
Contributions
Links
Search the Site
Scottish History
The Burns Shop

Translation
Index

Again Rejoicing Nature

 

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

Chorus
And maun I still on Menie doat,
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
For it's jet, jet-black, an' it's like a hawk,
An' it winna let a body be.
1.
Again rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
2.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
3.
The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
4.
The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the duckling cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And ev'ry thing is blest but I.
5.
The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And o'er the moorlands whistles shill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
6.
And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
7.
Come winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging, bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When nature all is sad like me!

Chorus
And must I still on Menie dote,
And bear the scorn that is in her eye?
For it is jet, jet-black, and it is like a hawk,
And it will not let a body be.

Again rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steeped in morning dews.

In vain to me the cowslips blow,
In vain to me the violets spring;
In vain to me in glen or woods,
The mavis (song thrush) and the linnet sing.

The merry plough-boy cheers his team,
With joy the careful seeds-man stalks;
But life to me is a weary dream,
A dream of one that never wakes.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Among the reeds the duckling cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blessed but I.

The sheep-herd shuts his fold-gate,
And over the moorlands whistles shrill;
With wild, unequal, wandering step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, between light and dark,
Blythe awakens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghost I homeward glide.

Come winter, with your angry howl,
And raging, bend the naked tree;
Your gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When nature all is sad like me!

 

2004 WBC. Under no circumstances can any  of the contents of this site be copied, reproduced,  or represented without prior written consent.