CCXLVII.
O TELL NA ME O’ WIND AND RAIN.
[The poet’s thoughts, as rendered in the lady’s answer, are, at all events, not borrowed from the sentiments expressed by Mrs. Riddel, alluded to in song CCXXXVII.; there she is tender and forgiving: here she in stern and cold.]
I.
O tell na me o’ wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi’ cauld disdain!
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.
I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
And ance for a’ this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo!
II.
The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand’rer pours,
Is nocht to what poor she endures,
That’s trusted faithless man, jo.
III.
The sweetest flower that deck’d the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed:
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.