No More Learning

IV.

And you farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,
To masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round--I ask it with a tear,--
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.

* * * * *




XXVIII.

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

Tune--"_If he be a butcher neat and trim. _"

[There are many variations of this song, which was first printed by
Cromek from the oral communication of a Glasgow Lady, on whose charms,
the poet, in early life, composed it. ]


I.

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
Could I describe her shape and mien;
Our lasses a' she far excels,
An she has twa sparkling roguish een.

II.

She's sweeter than the morning dawn
When rising Phoebus first is seen,
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een

III.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,
That grows the cowslip braes between,
And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

IV.
She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

V.

Her looks are like the vernal May,
When evening Phoebus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on every spray--
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VI.

Her hair is like the curling mist
That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,
When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VII.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When gleaming sunbeams intervene,
And gild the distant mountain's brow;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

VIII.

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
The pride of all the flow'ry scene,
Just opening on its thorny stem;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

IX.

Her teeth are like the nightly snow
When pale the morning rises keen,
While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een

X.

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,
That sunny walls from Boreas screen--
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
An' she has twa, sparkling roguish een.

XI.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' she has twa glancin' roguish een.

XII.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.