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  postcript
  my memory's no worth a preen;
  i had amaist forgotten clean,
  ye bade me write you what they mean
  by this “new-light,”
  'bout which our herds sae aft hae been
  maist like to fight.
  in days when mankind were but callans
  at grammar, logic, an' sic talents,
  they took nae pains their speech to balance,
  or rules to gie;
  but spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans,
  like you or me.
  in thae auld times, they thought the moon,
  just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,
  wore by degrees, till her last roon
  gaed past their viewin;
  an' shortly after she was done
  they gat a new ane.
  this passed for certain, undisputed;
  it ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it,
  till chiels gat up an' wad confute it,
  an' ca'd it wrang;
  an' muckle din there was about it,
  baith loud an' lang.
  some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,
  wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk;
  for 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk
  an' out of' sight,
  an' backlins-comin to the leuk ↑返回顶部↑