No More Learning

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

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LXXXVI.

EPPIE ADAIR.

Tune--"_My Eppie. _"

["This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "which has been ascribed to
Burns by some of his editors, is in the Musical Museum without any
name. " It is partly an old strain, corrected by Burns: he communicated
it to the Museum. ]


I.

An' O! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie!
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair?
By love, and by beauty,
By law, and by duty,
I swear to be true to
My Eppie Adair!

II.

An' O! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie!
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair?
A' pleasure exile me,
Dishonour defile me,
If e'er I beguile thee,
My Eppie Adair!

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LXXXVII.

THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR.

Tune--"_Cameronian Rant. _"

[One Barclay, a dissenting clergyman in Edinburgh, wrote a rhyming
dialogue between two rustics, on the battle of Sheriff-muir: Burns was
in nowise pleased with the way in which the reverend rhymer handled
the Highland clans, and wrote this modified and improved version. ]


I.

"O cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man? "
I saw the battle, sair and tough,
And reekin' red ran mony a sheugh.
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.

II.

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And mony a bouk did fa', man:
The great Argyll led on his files,
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles:
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords clash'd,
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd,
'Till fey men died awa, man.

III.

But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets opposed the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath,
Drew blades o' death, 'till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.

IV.

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true?