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TUNE-The Mill Mill O.

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning:
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia hame again
I cheery on did wander.

I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile,
That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported;

I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling?
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom !

My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain wad be thy lodger;

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I've served my king and country lang—
Take pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever:
Quo' she, a sodger ance I loe'd,
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;

That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gazed-she redden'd like a rose
Syne pale like ony lily;

She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize;
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.

TUNE-The last time I came o'er the Moor.

Farewell, thou stream that winding flows

Around Eliza's dwelling!

O memory! spare the cruel throes

Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,

To feel a fire in every vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover:
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt nor canst relieve me;

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer,
For pity's sake forgive me!

The music of thy voice I heard,

Nor wist while it enslaved me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had saved me:
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast,

The wheeling torrent viewing,
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.

TUNE-Logan Water.

O 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 flowery 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 valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,

The bees hum round the breathing flowers;

Blithe 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 song 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.

O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye mak mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie, hame to Logan braes!

TUNE-Robin Adair.

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,

Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing roar ;

There would I weep my woes,

There seek my lost repose,

Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more.

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare
All thy fond plighted vows fleeting as air?
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try,
What peace is there!

TUNE-Allan Water.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through 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

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie !

O, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie ;

Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie !
Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said "I'm thine for ever!"

While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

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