No More Learning

]


I.

Could aught of song declare my pains,
Could artful numbers move thee,
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains,
O Mary, how I love thee!
They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish;
But what avails the pride of art,
When wastes the soul with anguish?

II.

Then let the sudden bursting sigh
The heart-felt pang discover;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
O read th' imploring lover.
For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising;
Beyond what Fancy e'er refin'd,
The voice of nature prizing.

* * * * *




CCXVIII.

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS.

Tune--"_Laggan Burn. _"

["This song is in the Musical Museum, with Burns's name to it," says
Sir Harris Nicolas. It is a song of the poet's early days, which he
trimmed up, and sent to Johnson. ]


I.

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass,
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come na mair to thy bower-door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
O dinna think, my pretty pink,
But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care
How lang ye look about ye.

II.
Thou'rt ay sae free informing me
Thou hast na mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee
Nae time hae I to tarry.
I ken thy friends try ilka means,
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance--
But fortune may betray thee.

III.

I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae long as I'll enjoy it:
I'll fear na scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.

IV.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
And ay until ye try them:
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,
They may prove waur than I am.
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel,
Nae travel makes him weary.

* * * * *




CCXIX.

THE FAREWELL.

Tune--"_It was a' for our rightfu' king. _"

["It seems very doubtful," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "how much, even if
any part of this song was written by Burns: it occurs in the Musical
Museum, but not with his name. " Burns, it is believed, rather pruned
and beautified an old Scottish lyric, than composed this strain
entirely. Johnson received it from him in his own handwriting. ]


I.

It was a' for our rightfu' king,
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear;
We e'er saw Irish land.