No More Learning

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me.

XII.

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.

* * * * *




CXCIX.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

Tune--"Robin Adair. "

[The ladies of the M'Murdo family were graceful and beautiful, and
lucky in finding a poet capable of recording their charms in lasting
strains. The heroine of this song was Phyllis M'Murdo; a favourite of
the poet. The verses were composed at the request of Clarke, the
musician, who believed himself in love with his "charming pupil. " She
laughed at the presumptuous fiddler. ]


I.

While larks with little wing
Fann'd the pure air,
Tasting the breathing spring,
Forth I did fare:
Gay the sun's golden eye
Peep'd o'er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
Phillis the fair.

II.
In each bird's careless song,
Glad I did share;
While yon wild flowers among,
Chance led me there:
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.

III.

Down in a shady walk
Doves cooing were,
I mark'd the cruel hawk,
Caught in a snare:
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny!
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.

* * * * *




CC.

HAD I A CAVE.

Tune--"Robin Adair. "

[Alexander Cunningham, on whose unfortunate love-adventure Burns
composed this song for Thomson, was a jeweller in Edinburgh, well
connected, and of agreeable and polished manners. The story of his
faithless mistress was the talk of Edinburgh, in 1793, when these
words were written: the hero of the lay has been long dead; the
heroine resides, a widow, in Edinburgh. ]


I.

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more.

II.

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
All thy fond plighted vows--fleeting as air!
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there!

* * * * *




CCI.