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The child wha boasts o' warld's walth
Ah! fortune canna gi'e me mair.
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
TUNE-"The mill, mill, O."
["Burns, I have been informed, was one summer evening at the inn at Brownhill with a couple of friends, when a poor wayworn 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.]
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
An' mony a widow mourning,
I left the lines an' tented field,
The Soldier's return.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen
I pass'd the mill, an' trysting thorn,
Down by her mother's dwelling! An' turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I,
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,
I've serv'd my king an' country lang-
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
An' lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo’ed,
She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose—
She sank within my arms, an' cried,
"The wars are o'er, an' I'm come hame,
An' come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
But glory is the sodger's prize,
Meg o' the Mill.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
In day an' hour of danger.
MEG O' THE MILL.
TUNE-"O bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack."
Oн, ken ye wha Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
And broken the heart o' the barley miller.
The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy;
The miller he hecht her a heart leal an' loving;
Oh, wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing !
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!
"OH! open the door, some pity to show,
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
"Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
"The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, An' time is setting with me, oh!
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh!
"My true love!" she cried, an' sank down by his side, Never to rise again, oh!
TRUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, An' fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr,