Poor Mailies Elegy（1 / 2）

  poor mailie's elegy
  lament in rhyme, lament in prose,
  wi' saut tears trickling down your nose;
  our bardie's fate is at a close,
  past a' remead!
  the last, sad cape-stane o' his woes;
  poor mailie's dead!
  it's no the loss o' warl's gear,
  that could sae bitter draw the tear,
  or mak our bardie, dowie, wear
  the mourning weed:
  he's lost a friend an' neebor dear
  in mailie dead.
  thro' a' the town she trotted by him;
  a lang half-mile she could descry him;
  wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him,
  she ran wi' speed:
  a friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him,
  than mailie dead.
  i wat she was a sheep o' sense,
  an' could behave hersel' wi' mense:
  i'll say't, she never brak a fence,
  thro' thievish greed.
  our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence
  sin' mailie's dead.
  or, if he wanders up the howe,
  her living image in her yowe
  comes bleating till him, owre the knowe,
  for bits o' bread;
  an' down the briny pearls rowe ↑返回顶部↑