这样地说了一遍，他觉得自家可怜起来，好像有万千哀怨，横亘在胸中，一口说不出来的样子。含了一双清泪，他的眼睛又看到他手里的书上去。
Behold her，single in the field，
You solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself；
Stop here，or gently pass!
Alone she cuts，and binds the grain，
And sings a melancholy strain；
Oh，listen！for the vale profound
is overflowing with the sound.
看了这一节之后，他又忽然翻过一张来，脱头脱脑地看到那第三节去。
Will no one tell me what she sings？
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old，unhappy far-off things，
And battle long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay，