Engelsk
oversættelse
an'chase thee , We murdering pattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An justifies that ill opinion Wich malkes thee startle At me , thy poor , earth- born companion An fellow mortal!
I doubt na, whyles , but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie , thou man live !A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request ;
I'll get a blessin wi the lave, An' never miss't!
Thy wee-bit housie , too , in ruin !
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin !
An' naething , now , to big a new ane, O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin , Baith snell an ' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste , An weary winter comin fast , An cozie here , beneath the blast , Thou thought to dwell , Till crash ! the cruel coulter past out hrough thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an ' stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out , for a'thy trouble , But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie , thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best -laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley , An ' lea'e us noght but grief an' pain , For promis'd joy!
Still thou art blest , compared wi'me!The present only toucheth thee;
But och ! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An' forward , though I canna see , I guess an fear .
Dette er et skotsk digt som jeg skal oversætte til dansk , men da jeg ikke forstår noget af det , vil jeg spørge om jeres hjælp til at oversætte det og forklare mig hvad det handler om.
Svar #1
20. august 2007 af -Zeta- (Slettet)
Svar #2
20. august 2007 af white_angel (Slettet)
Small, sleek, cowering, timorous beast,
O, what a panic is in your breast!
You need not start away so hasty
With hurrying scamper!
I would be loath to run and chase you,
With murdering plough-staff.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
And fellow mortal!
I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;
What then? Poor beast, you must live!
An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves
Is a small request;
I will get a blessing with what is left,
And never miss it.
Your small house, too, in ruin!
It's feeble walls the winds are scattering!
And nothing now, to build a new one,
Of coarse grass green!
And bleak December's winds coming,
Both bitter and keen!
You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,
And weary winter coming fast,
And cozy here, beneath the blast,
You thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel plough past
Out through your cell.
That small bit heap of leaves and stubble,
Has cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you are turned out, for all your trouble,
Without house or holding,
To endure the winter's sleety dribble,
And hoar-frost cold.
But Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leaves us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
Still you are blest, compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!
Svar #3
20. august 2007 af -Zeta- (Slettet)
Svar #4
20. august 2007 af white_angel (Slettet)
Svar #5
20. august 2007 af -Zeta- (Slettet)
Du er nødt til at komme med dit eget bud først. Det er en fast politik blandt hjælperne.
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