No More Learning

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There Simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last farewell
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

II.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary!

III.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early! --
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

IV.

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly--
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary!

* * * * *




CLXXXIII.

AULD ROB MORRIS.
[The starting lines of this song are from one of no little merit in
Ramsey's collection: the old strain is sarcastic; the new strain is
tender: it was written for Thomson. ]


I.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

II.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

But oh! she's an heiress,--auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me mamma hope to come speed;
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

V.

O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!

* * * * *




CLXXXIV.

DUNCAN GRAY.

[This Duncan Gray of Burns, has nothing in common with the wild old
song of that name, save the first line, and a part of the third,
neither has it any share in the sentiments of an earlier strain, with
the same title, by the same hand.