No More Learning

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man;
I saw myself, they did pursue
The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling winged their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man! "

V.

My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swore she saw some rebels run
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man:
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae good-will
That day their neebors' blood to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose--they scar'd at blows.
And so it goes, you see, man.

VI.

They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man:
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
And mony bade the world guid-night;
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets' knell,
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell,
And Whigs to hell did flee, man.

* * * * *




LXXXVIII.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

Tune--"_Young Jockey. _"

[With the exception of three or four lines, this song, though marked
in the Museum as an old song with additions, is the work of Burns. He
often seems to have sat down to amend or modify old verses, and found
it easier to make verses wholly new. ]


I.
Young Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa:
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue,
He roos'd my waist sae genty sma',
And ay my heart came to my mou'
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

II.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,
Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw;
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain,
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
An' ay the night comes round again,
When in his arms he takes me a',
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain,
As lang's he has a breath to draw.

* * * * *




LXXXIX.

O WILLIE BREW'D.

Tune--"_Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. _"

[The scene of this song is Laggan, in Nithsdale, a small estate which
Nicol bought by the advice of the poet. It was composed in memory of
the house-heating. "We had such a joyous meeting," says Burns, "that
Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the
business. " The Willie who made the browst was, therefore, William
Nicol; the Allan who composed the air, Allan Masterton; and he who
wrote this choicest of convivial songs, Robert Burns. ]


I.

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan came to see:
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

II.