But I never feared its foaming yet.
Though the winds blew high or low.
When squalls capsize our wooden walls,
When the French ride at the Nore,
When Leith meets Aberdour half-way.
We'll go to sea no more,
No more,
Well go to sea no more.
I never liked the landsman's life,
The earth is aye the same;
Gi'e me the ocean for my dower,
My vessel for my hame.
Gi'e me the fields that no man ploughs,
The farm that pays no fee;
Gi'e me the bonnie fish that glance
So gladly through the sea.
When sails hang flapping on the masts,
Though, through the waves we snore;
When in a calm we're tempest tost,
We'll go to sea no more,
No more,
We'll go to sea no more.
The sun is up, and round Inchkeith,
The breezes saftly blaw;
The gudeman has the lines on board,—
Awa', my bairns, awa'!
And ye'll be back by gloaming gray,
And bright the fire will low;
And in our tales and sangs we'll tell
How weel the boat ye row.—
When life's last sun gangs feebly down,
And death comes to our door—
When a' the warld's a dream to us,
We'll go to sea no more,
No more,
We'll go to sea no more.
Bonnie Ann.
[From "Odes and Sonnets, with other Poems, Scotch as well as English. By the Rev. C. Lessingham Smith, M.A. Rector of Little Caufield, Essex."]
I doutna whiles but I could wale
A lass wi' mair o' gowd and lan';
But no a lass in a' the vale
I lo'e sae weel as bonnie Ann.
Her een sae sparklin' and sae blue,
Aye speak o' mirth and love to me;
An' then her sweet wee rosy mou'—
Just for ae kiss what wad I gi'e?
Her daddie 's aye apreachin' o't
That she's ower young as yet, ye ken;
But guidness guide us! that 's a faut
That ilka day an' hour maun men'.
She's seen the flowers o' saxteen springs,
Hersel' the sweetest flower o' a'!
An' a' thing on her guidin' hings
In barn and byre, in house and ha'.
O' saxty nowt she's aye the rule;
O' sheep and kye twa hunder fu',
Then whar, I'se like to ken, the fule
Wad threip she's no a woman nou?
But I maun bide, as weil's I may,
To please her daddie, honest man!
Though sair I lang for that blythe day
When I'm to wed my bonnie Ann.
Our gudeman's an unco body.
[Thomas Dodd.—Here first printed. Tune, "Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggy."]
Our gudeman's an unco body,
Our gudeman's an unco body,
Ilka plack that he can mak',
He'd drink an' mair than that,—'tweel wad he!
I wrought an' toil'd to buy a cleuk.
When I had just ae groat to win o't,
I hid it in the aumery neuk,
Fu' glad to think he wadna ken o't.
Oh, he's an unco body,
Oh, he's a drouthy body;
He drank it, sirs, and pawn'd my purse,
Tho' my auld cleuk is wearing duddy.
But when he fu' comes hame at e'en,
He's sic a takin' gate aye wi' him,
I sigh and think on what he's been,
I flyte awee, an' just forgi'e him.
