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Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie,
Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in themselves, and were adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake of suiting the words better to the music. The Homeric epithet for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by Mr. Erskine, is in itself more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime, than wide-roaring, which he has retained, but as it is only applicable to a placid state of the sea, or at most to the swell left on its surface after the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well adapted to the ideas of eternal separation, which the fair mourner is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of Here awa Willie, Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and part of the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem will, it is hoped, justify the different edi. tions of it which we have given.
Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON.
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn.
Air-" THE MILL MILL 0."
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
And mony a widow mourning:
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
A poor and honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder:
* Variation, lines 3d and 4th :
And eyes again with pleasure beam'd,
See No. XXIV.
I thought upon the banks o’ Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where early life I sported;
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Down by her mother's dwelling !
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 0! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom!
And fain would be thy lodger;
Take pity on a sodger.
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier was than ever; Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd—she redden'd like a rose
Syne pale like ony lily;
Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By whom true love's regarded,
True lovers be rewarded.
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted ! Tho" poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
A mailen plenish'd fairly ;
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.
MEG O' THE MILL.
Air_“O BONNIE LASS WILL YOU LIĘ IN A BARRACK.”
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
' She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o'siller, And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy ;
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.