TO MARY.‡ TUNE- EWE-BUGHTS, MARION.' WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary, O sweet grows the lime and the orange, But a' the charms o' the Indies I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, ་་ Mary Campbell was the heroine of this song, of which Burns says, in a letter to Thomson about October or November, 1792, " In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merit of Ewe-bughts;' but it will fill up this page. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race." O plight me your faith, my Mary, We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, And curst be the cause that shall part us! MARY MORISON.* TUNE-BIDE YE YET.' O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', *To Thomson, Burns wrote, 20th March, 1793, "This song is one of my juvenile works. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits, or demerits." + This song, which has been collated with a copy in the Poet's own hand, was sent to Thomson in April, 1793. Mr. Thomson says, the following incident relative to this song was communicated to him by a friend, a clergyman in Dumfriesshire: "Burns, I have been informed, was one To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw : O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, THE SOGER'S RETURN.† TUNE- THE MILL MILL O.' WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning: 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 0."" I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I'd been a lodger, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, poor and honest soger. A A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; I thought upon the banks o' Coil, At length I reach'd the bonie glen, I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, Wi' alter'd' voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, That's dearest to thy bosom ! I've serv'd my King and Country lang Take pity on a soger VAR. And ay I min't. MS. 3 fremit. MS. ! 2 lass. MS. Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, That gallant badge, the dear cockade, She gaz'd—she redden'd like a rose- She sank within my arms, and cried, The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the soger's prize; VAR. look'd. MS. 5 wallow't like a lily. MS. 6 And. 9 ain dear. |