No More Learning

In the first place, since I left Coila's native haunts,
not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by
catching inspiration from her, so I more than suspect that she has
followed me hither, or, at least, makes me           visits;
secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the very words
that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots
reel in Johnson's Museum.