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THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
229 How blythely wad I hide the stoure, | I left the lines and tented field, A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Where lang I'd been a lodger, Could I the rich reward secure,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, The lovely Mary Morison.
A poor but honest sodger. Yestreen when to the trembling string, A leal, light heart was in my breast,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', My hand unstain'd wi' plunder: To thee my fancy took its wing,
And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon my Nancy;
I thought upon the witching smile “Ye are na Mary Morison.”
That caught my youthful fancy.
Where early life I sported;
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid At least be pity to me shown;
Down by her mother's dwelling! A thought ungentle canna be
And turn'd me round to hide the flood The thought o' Mary Morison.
That in my een was swelling.
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
Oh! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang, HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
And fain would be thy lodger; Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; I've served my king and country langCome to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Take pity on a sodger!” Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, Winter-winds blew loud and cauld at our And lovelier was than ever ; partins,
Quo' she, “ A sodger ance I loe'ch.
Ye freely shall partake o't;
Ye're welcome for the sake o't. slumbers,
She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose-
“By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded, But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his
I am the man; and thus may still Nannie,
True lovers be rewarded. Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main! May I never see it, may I never trow it, The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! And find thee still true-hearted !
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we're ne'er be parted.”'
Quo' she, “My grandsire left me gowd, The Soldier's Refnri. (360)
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou’rt welcome to it dearly."
The farmer ploughs the manor; Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
But glory is the sodger's prize, And mouy a widow mourning :
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger : Remember he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger.
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
Blythe har I bren on non Dill.
TUNE-Liggeram Cosh. BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me: Now nae luger sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me; Lesley is sae fair and coy,
Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task,
Hopeless love declaring: Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r,
Sighing, dimb, despairing! If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling, Underneath the grass-green sod,
Soon maun be my dwelling.
Oh, gin my love were nan Red Rose! (362)
AIR-Hughie Graham. Oi, gin my love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa'; And I mysel a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa’! Oh there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night! Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light. Oh, were my love yon lilach fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I, a bird to shelter there;
When wearied on my little wingHow I wad mourn, when it was torn
By autumn wild, and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renewid.
But lawks as the little the fairest dest rest
Logan Brars. (361)
TUNE-Logan Water. Oh Logan, sweetly didst thou glide That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flow'ry banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and vallies gay; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers : Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, And evening's tears are tears of joy: My soul, delightless, a'surveys, While Willie's far frae Logan braes. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, Or wi' his songs her cares beguile: But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, While Willie's far frae Logan braes. Oh, wae upon you, men o'state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate! As ye make many a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return !
Bonnie Jean. (363) THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen ; When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie: The blythest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she, But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers;
And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown As in the bosom o' the stream
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'eu; So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast o' bounie Jean,
ADOWN WINDING NITI I DID WANDER.
And now she works her mammie's wark, | Cauld is the blast upon ny pale cheek,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain; But caulder thy love for me, oh; Yet wist na what her ail might be,
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Or what wad mak her weel again.
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh! But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
The wan moon is setting behind the white And did na joy blink in her ee,
wave, As Robie tauld a tale o love
And time is setting with me, oh! Ae e'enin on the lily lea ?
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair The sun was sinking in the west,
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh!” The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; She has open'd the door, she has open'd it His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
wide; And whisper'd thus his tale o' love:
She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh! “Oh Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear;
“My true love !" she cried, and sank down Oh, canst thou think to fancy me;
by his side, Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
Never to rise again, oh!
[the Ayr, At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And fair are the maids on the banks of And love was aye between them twa. But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: Meg of the Mill.
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ;
1 To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain : AIR-Oh Bonnie Lass will you lie in a Barrack? Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, Oh ken ye wha Meg o’the Mill has gotten? And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has Oh, fresh is the rose in the cay dewy gotten ?
morning, She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o'siller,
I And sweet is the lily at evening close; And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. But in the fair presence o lovely young The Miller was strappin', the Miller was Jessie ruddy;
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady: Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring: The Laird was a widdiefu’, bleerit knurl; Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law; She's left the guidfellow and taen the churl. | And still to her charms she alone is a
stranger The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'! loving;
[moving, The Laird did address her wi' matter more A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.
Idown minding Flills I did Wander. Oh wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing!
TUNE--The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre. And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen! A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, ADOwn winding Nith I did wander, But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! | To mark the sweet flowers as they spring
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.
CHORUS. “Oh! open the door, some pity to show, Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
Oh! open the door to me, oh! [true, They never wi' her can compare; Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, Oh! open the door to me, oh!
Has met wi' the queen a' the fair..
The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
In each bird's careless song, So artless, so simple, so wild;
Glad did I share; Thou emblem, said i, o' my Phillis,
While yon wild flowers among, For she is simplicity's child.
Chance led me there;
Sweet to the opening day, The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
Such thy bloom ! did I say, How fair and how pure is the lily,
Phillis the fair. But fairer and purer her breast.
Down in a shady walk, Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
Doves cooing were;
I mark'd the cruel hawk
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny, Her voice is the song of the morning,
He who would injure thee, That wakes thro'the green-spreading grove,
Phillis the fair.
On music, and pleasure, and love.
Bu Allan štream I rhanr'to Raur.
TUNE-Allan Water. Will flourish without a decay.
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phæbus sank beyond Benleddi; (366) The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready:
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony;
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang
1 Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie! HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore, Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; roar;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, There would I weep my woes,
The place and time I met my dearie! There seek my lost repose,
Her head upon my throbbing breast, Till grief my eyes should close,
She, sinking, said, “ I'm thine for ever!" Ne'er to wake more !
While mony a kiss the seal iinprest, Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. All thy fond-plighted vows-fleeting as air! |
air! The haunt o'spring's the primrose brae, To thy new lover hie,
The simmer joys the flocks to follow; Laugh o'er thy perjury;
How cheery thro' her shortening day,
Is autumn in her weeds o’yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure ? Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ?
Phillis the Fair. (365)
TUNE-Robin Adair. While larks with the wing,
Fann'd the pure air,
Forth I did fare;
Phillis the fair.
Come let me take Thre to my Breast.
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ;
The warld's wealth and grandeur:
That equal transports move her ?
That I may live to love her.
BEHOLD THE HOUR.
Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure; I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure: And by thy een sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever! And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never !
| When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I flee to his arnis I loe best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
Whistle and I'll Come to you, my Laù.
And come, &c.
Yet look, &c. Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; But court nae anither, tho' jokin' ye be, For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.
Brari's Audress. (368)
TUNE-Hey Tuttie Taittie. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie!
Chains and slavery!
Let him turn and flee!
Let him follow me!
But they shall be free!
Let us do, or die!
Dainty Davir. (367)
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
A-wandering wi' my Davie.
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Brhold the Panr. (369)
TUNE-Oran Gaoil. | BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, thou darling of my heart! Sever'd from thee, can I survive ?
But fate has will’d, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell,
Yon distant isle will often hail : “E'en here I took the last farewell;
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye; Happy thou Indian grove, I'll say,
Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 1 Oh, tell me, does she muse on me!