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The child wha boasts o' warld's walth
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
Ah ! fortune canna gi'e me mair.
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e !
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,
An' gentle peace returning,
An' mony a widow mourning,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
A poor but honest sodger.
The Soldier's return.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain’d wi' plunder;
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon my Nancy;
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen
Where early life I sported;
'Where Nancy aft I courted: Wha spied I but my ain dear maid
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, Oh, happy, happy may he be
That's dearest to thy bosom !
An' fain wad be thy lodger;
Tak’ pity on a sodger!”
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
An' lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, “ A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Ye freely shall partake o't:
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, I am the man; an' thus may
still True lovers be rewarded.
“The wars are o'er, an' I'm come hame,
An' find thee still true-hearted ! Tho'poor in gear, we're rich in love,
An' 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.
Meg of the Mill.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
In day an' hour of danger.
MEG O'THE MILL.
TUNE—“O bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack.”
OH, ken ye wha Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
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, Oh! open
the door to me, oh! Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh! 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,
An' time is setting with me, oh!
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh !”
She has opend the door, she has open’d it wide;
She sees his pale corse on the plain, “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,