No More Learning

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CLIII.

YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN.

Tune--"_The carlin o' the glen. _"

[Sent to the Museum by Burns in his own handwriting: part only is
thought to be his]


I.

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain;
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove,
And reign'd resistless king of love:
But now wi' sighs and starting tears,
He strays amang the woods and briers;
Or in the glens and rocky caves
His sad complaining dowie raves.

II.

I wha sae late did range and rove,
And chang'd with every moon my love,
I little thought the time was near,
Repentance I should buy sae dear:
The slighted maids my torment see,
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair,
Forbids me e'er to see her mair!

* * * * *




CLIV.

OUT OVER THE FORTH.

Tune--"_Charlie Gordon's welcome hame. _"

[In one of his letters to Cunningham, dated 11th March 1791, Burns
quoted the four last lines of this tender and gentle lyric, and
inquires how he likes them. ]


I.

Out over the Forth I look to the north,
But what is the north and its Highlands to me?
The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.

II.
But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
For far in the west lives he I Io'e best,
The lad that is dear to my babie and me.

* * * * *




CLV.

THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.

Tune--"_Jacky Latin. _"

[Burns in one of his professional visits to Ecclefechan was amused
with a rough old district song, which some one sung: he rendered, at a
leisure moment, the language more delicate and the sentiments less
warm, and sent it to the Museum. ]


I.

Gat ye me, O gat ye me,
O gat ye me wi' naething?
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,
A mickle quarter basin.
Bye attour, my gutcher has
A hich house and a laigh ane,
A' for bye, my bonnie sel',
The toss of Ecclefechan.

II.

O haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing,
O hand your tongue and jauner;
I held the gate till you I met,
Syne I began to wander:
I tint my whistle and my sang,
I tint my peace and pleasure:
But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing,
Wad airt me to my treasure.

* * * * *




CLVI.

THE COOPER O' CUDDIE.

Tune--"_Bab at the bowster. _"

[The wit of this song is better than its delicacy: it is printed in
the Museum, with the name of Burns attached. ]


I.