Epistle To Major Logan（3 / 3）

  wi' girnin'spite.
  by by yon moon!—and that's high swearin—
  an' every star within my hearin!
  an' by her een wha was a dear ane!
  i'll ne'er forget;
  i hope to gie the jads a clearin
  in fair play yet.
  my loss i mourn, but not repent it;
  i'll seek my pursie whare i tint it;
  ance to the indies i were wonted,
  some cantraip hour
  by some sweet elf i'll yet be dinted;
  then vive l'amour!
  faites mes baissemains respectueuses,
  to sentimental sister susie,
  and honest lucky; no to roose you,
  ye may be proud,
  that sic a couple fate allows ye,
  to grace your blood.
  nae mair at present can i measure,
  an' trowth my rhymin ware's nae treasure;
  but when in ayr, some half-hour's leisure,
  be't light, be't dark,
  sir bard will do himself the pleasure
  to call at park.
  robert burns.
  mossgiel, 30th october, 1786. ↑返回顶部↑