RihlaJourney

Winter: A Dirge, Robert Burns

robjbell — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 14:31:26 +0000

The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.

“The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,”
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I rest; they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want-O do Thou grant
This one request of mine!-
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.

My Last Farewell to Stirling, Robert Burns

robjbell — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 14:28:38 +0000

Nae lark in transport mounts the sky
Or leaves wi’ early plaintive cry,
But I will bid a last good-bye,
My last farewell to Stirling O.

Chorus:

Tho’ far awa, ma hert’s wi’ you.
Our youthful ‘oors, upon wings they flew
But I will bid a last adieu
A last farewell to Stirling O.

Nae mair I’ll meet ye in the dark
Or gang wi’ you to the King’s Park
Or raise the hare from oot their flap
When I gae far fae Stirling O.

Nae mair I’ll wander through the glen,
Disturb the roost o’ the pheasant hen.
Or chase the rabbits tae their den
When I gae far fae Stirling O.

Their one request before I go
And this is to my comrades all:
My dog and gun I’ll leave to you
When I gae far fae Stirling O.

So fare thee well my Jeannie dear
For you I’ll shed a bitter tear.
I hope you’ll find another, dear,
When I gae far fae Stirling O.

So fare thee well, for I am bound
For twenty years to Van Diemen’s Land.
But think of me, and what I’ve done
When I gae far fae Stirling O.

Banks O’Doon, Robert Burns

robjbell — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 14:26:17 +0000

Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care!
Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft I rov’d by Bonie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o’ its luve,
And fondly sae did I o’ mine.
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree!
Any my fause luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.

A Fiddler In the North, Robert Burns

robjbell — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 14:24:28 +0000

Amang the trees, where humming bees,
At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O:
‘Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,
She dirl’d them aff fu’ clearly, O:
When there cam’ a yell o’ foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

Their capon craws an’ queer “ha, ha’s,”
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
Till we were wae and weary, O:
But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas’d,
A prisoner, aughteen year awa’,
He fir’d a Fiddler in the North,
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

Latin proverb attributed to St Augustine

robjbell — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:57:49 +0000

Solvitur Ambulando.

Translation – It is solved by walking; the problem is solved by practical experiment.

Antonio Machado

robjbell — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:52:16 +0000

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking

The mortgage: to Furius, Catallus

robjbell — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:46:38 +0000

Furius, your little villa’s not exposed
to the southerlies, or the westerlies,
the savage north-wind, or the easterly breeze,
but truly to fifteen thousand two hundred cash.
O terrifying and destructive wind!

Cesare Pavese

robjbell — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 19:20:49 +0000

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.

Travellers, Conceição Lima

robjbell — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 19:19:34 +0000

They bore sunsets and roads
Thirst for the horizon called them

- Who do you belong to?
Who are your people?

That’s how our grandmother held out
A mug of water to the traveller

Mark Twain

robjbell — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:27:28 +0000

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.