No More Learning

He turn'd him right, and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear;
With adieu for evermore.

IV.

The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear;
Never to meet again

V.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;
I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear;
The lee-lang night, and weep.

* * * * *




CCXX.

O STEER HER UP.

Tune--"_O steer her up, and haud her gaun. _"

[Burns, in composing these verses, took the introductory lines of an
older lyric, eked them out in his own way, and sent them to the
Museum. ]


I.

O steer her up and haud her gaun--
Her mother's at the mill, jo;
And gin she winna take a man,
E'en let her take her will, jo:
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss,
And ca' another gill, jo,
And gin she take the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

II.

O steer her up, and be na blate,
An' gin she take it ill, jo,
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate,
And time nae longer spill, jo:
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
But think upon it still, jo,
That gin the lassie winna do't,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.

* * * * *




CCXXI.

O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.

Tune--"_My wife she dang me.
_"

[Other verses to the same air, belonging to the olden times, are still
remembered in Scotland: but they are only sung when the wine is in,
and the sense of delicacy out. This song is in the Museum. ]


I.

O ay my wife she dang me,
And aft my wife did bang me,
If ye gie a woman a' her will,
Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent,
And fool I was I married;
But never honest man's intent,
As cursedly miscarried.

II.

Some sairie comfort still at last,
When a' their days are done, man;
My pains o' hell on earth are past,
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.
O ay my wife she dang me,
And aft my wife did bang me,
If ye gie a woman a' her will,
Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.

* * * * *




CCXXII.

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

Tune--"_Lass o' Livistone. _"

[Tradition says this song was composed in honour of Jessie Lewars, the
Jessie of the poet's death-bed strains. It is inserted in Thomson's
collection: variations occur in several manuscripts, but they are
neither important nor curious. ]


I.

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee:
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.

II.