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OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!

"O OPEN the door, some pity to shew, O open the door to me, oh!

Though thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, O open the door to me, oh!

"Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh!

"The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, oh!

False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh!"

She has opened the door, she has opened it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh! "My true love!" she cried, and sank down by his

side,

Never to rise again, oh!

YOUNG JESSIE.

TUNE- Bonny Dundee.

In this song, Burns meant a compliment to Miss Janet Staig, second daughter of the Provost of Dumfries, and subsequently the wife of Major William Miller, one of the sons of the poet's former landlord. Mrs. Miller must have now been a very young lady, for her monument in Dumfries church-yard states that she died in March 1801, at the early age of twenty-six.

TRUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the

Ayr;

But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair. To equal young Jessie seek Scotland1 all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

1 Burns had written "Scotia," which Mr. Thomson altered to "Scotland."

O fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning,

And sweet is the lily at evening close; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring, Enthroned in her een he delivers his law; And still to her charms she alone is a strangerHer modest demeanour's the jewel of a'!

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.1

TUNE- The Mill, Mill O!

WHEN wild War's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle Peace returning,

1 "Burns, I have been informed, was one summer evening at the inn at Brownhill with a couple of friends, when a poor way worn soldier passed the window: of a sudden, it struck the poet to call him in, and get the story of his adventures; after listening to which, he all at once fell into one of those fits of abstraction not unusual with him. He was lifted to the region where he had his 'garland and singing robes about him' and the result was the admirable song which he sent you for The Mill, Mill O!" Correspondent of Mr. George Thomson. Mill-Mannoch, a sweet pastoral scene on the Coyl, near Coylton Kirk, is supposed to have been the spot where the poet imagined the rencontre of the soldier and his mistress to have taken place.

Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless,

And monie a widow mourning,1
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth-
A poor but honest sodger.

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

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

At length I reached the bonny glen
Where early life I sported;
I passed 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 turned me round to hide the flood
That in my e'en was swelling.

Wi' altered voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,

1 Variation ·

"And eyes again with pleasure beamed,

That had been bleared with mourning."

O happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom!

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

I've served my king and country lang-
Take pity on a sodger!

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Sae wistfully she gazed 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 o't;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."

She gazed she reddened 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,

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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,

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