No More Learning

AS I WAS A-WAND'RING.

Tune--"_Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh. _"

[The original song in the Gaelic language was translated for Burns by
an Inverness-shire lady; he turned it into verse, and sent it to the
Museum. ]


I.

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin',
The pipers and youngsters were making their game;
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,
Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him;
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

II.

I could na get sleeping till dawin for greetin',
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain:
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,
For, oh! luve forsaken's a tormenting pain.

III.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him,
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

* * * * *




CXXVI.

BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.

Tune--"_The sweet lass that lo'es me.
_"

[There are several variations of this song, but they neither affect
the sentiment, nor afford matter for quotation. ]


I.

O leeze me on my spinning-wheel,
O leeze me on the rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal--
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

II.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.

III.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And Echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays:
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

IV.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?

* * * * *




CXXVII.

O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN.

Tune--"_The Posie. _"

["The Posie is my composition," says Burns, in a letter to Thomson.
"The air was taken down from Mrs.