No More Learning

Meanwhile the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife;
To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.

II.

The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin
Awhile her pinions tries:
Till of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,
And drops beneath his feet!

* * * * *




CCLIV.

MARK YONDER POMP.

Tune--"_Deil tak the wars. _"

[Burns tells Thomson, in the letter enclosing this song, that he is in
a high fit of poetizing, provided he is not cured by the
strait-waistcoat of criticism. "You see," said he, "how I answer your
orders; your tailor could not be more punctual. " This strain in honour
of Chloris is original in conception, but wants the fine lyrical flow
of some of his other compositions. ]


I.

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures?
What are the noisy pleasures?
The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewel's blaze
May draw the wond'ring gaze,
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight,
But never, never can come near the heart.

II.
But did you see my dearest Chloris
In simplicity's array;
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day;
O then the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!
Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown,
Even Avarice would deny
His worship'd deity,
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.

* * * * *




CCLV.

THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.

Tune--"_This is no my ain house. _"

[Though composed to the order of Thomson, and therefore less likely to
be the offspring of unsolicited inspiration, this is one of the
happiest modern songs. When the poet wrote it, he seems to have been
beside the "fair dame at whose shrine," he said, "I, the priest of the
Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus. "]


I.

O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be;
O weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.
I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e'e.

II.

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And ay it charms my very saul,
The kind love that's in her e'e.

III.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lovers' een,
When kind love is in the e'e.

IV.

It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But weel the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her e'e.