No More Learning

II.

When I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.

III.

Lanely night comes on,
A' the lave are sleeping;
I think on my bonnie lad
And I bleer my een with greetin'.
Ay waukin O,
Waukin still and wearie:
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.

* * * * *




LXVI.

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

Tune--"_Ye gallants bright. _"

[Burns wrote this song in honour of Ann Masterton, daughter of Allan
Masterton, author of the air of Strathallan's Lament: she is now Mrs.
Derbishire, and resides in London. ]


I.

Ye gallants bright, I red ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

II.

Youth, grace, and love attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van:
In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enclaves the man;
Ye Gallants braw, I red you a',
Beware of bonnie Ann!

* * * * *




LXVII.

WHEN ROSY MAY.

Tune--"_The gardener wi' his paidle. _"

[The air of this song is played annually at the precession of the
Gardeners: the title only is old; the rest is the work of Burns. Every
trade had, in other days, an air of its own, and songs to correspond;
but toil and sweat came in harder measures, and drove melodies out of
working-men's heads. ]


I.

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours--
The gard'ner wi' his paidle
The crystal waters gently fa';
The merry birds are lovers a';
The scented breezes round him blaw--
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

II.

When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews he maun repair--
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature's rest,
He flies to her arms he lo'es best--
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

* * * * *




LXVIII.

BLOOMING NELLY.

Tune--"_On a bank of flowers. _"

[One of the lyrics of Allan Ramsay's collection seems to have been in
the mind of Burns when he wrote this: the words and air are in the
Museum. ]


I.