No More Learning

_"

[The thoughts of Burns, it is said, wandered to the fair Mrs. Riddel,
of Woodleigh Park, while he composed this song for Thomson. The idea
is taken from an old lyric, of more spirit than decorum. ]


I.

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet,
Or art thou waking, I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
And I would fain be in, jo.
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo!

II.

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet!
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet:
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.

III.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo!

* * * * *




CCXLVII.

O TELL NA ME O' WIND AND RAIN.
[The poet's thoughts, as rendered in the lady's answer, are, at all
events, not borrowed from the sentiments expressed by Mrs. Riddel,
alluded to in song CCXXXVII. ; there she is tender and forgiving: here
she in stern and cold. ]


I.

O tell na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain!
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.
I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
And ance for a' this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo!

II.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand'rer pours,
Is nocht to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.

III.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed:
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.

IV.

The bird that charm'd his summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a' this ae night,
I winna let you in jo!

* * * * *




CCXLVIII.

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.