THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

The poor and honest Sodger laid hold at once on public feeling, and it was every where sung with enthusiasm, which only began to abate when Campbell's Exile of Erin and Wounded Hussar were published.-Lockhart's Life of Burns.

Tune.-The mill, mill, O.

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless,
And monie a widow mourning,
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 unstain'd wi' plunder,
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where early life I sported,
I pass'd 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 turn'd me round to hide the flood,
That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
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 serv'd my king and country lang,
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;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.'

She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose-
Syne pale like onie lily,

She sank within mine arms and cried,
'Art thou my ain dear Willie?'
'By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
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;
Tho' poor in gear we 're rich in love,
And mair we 'se ne'er be parted.'
Quo' she, 'My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen" plenish'd fairly:
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
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 his 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.

"Farm.

LOGAN BRAES.

The title of this song, but nothing more, is taken from the old verses on Logan Water, beginning

Ae simmer night, on Logan braes,

I help'd a bounie lass on wi' her claes,

First wi' her stockings, an' syne wi' her shoon-
But she gied me the glaiks when a' was done!
Air.-Logan Water.

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsynew hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers:
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy;
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile :
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make monie a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!

How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry' ?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan braes!

BY ALLAN STREAM, &c.

f this song Burns says, 'I think it not in my worst style.' It has nothing in common with the Allan Water of Ramsay, in the Tea Table Miscellany, vol. 1. p. 86, but the title.

Tune.-Allan Water.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie; And ay the wild-wood echoes rang— 'O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!'

O, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She sinking, said, I'm thine for ever!'
While monie a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,
The simmer joys the flocks to follow ;
How cheerly thro' her shortening day,
Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

y A mountain west of Strathallan, 3009 feet high.

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

The fickleness of a lady of the name of Stewart occasioned this vigorous and emphatic song. The four concluding lines are quoted and highly praised in the Edinburgh Review for January,

1809.

SHE's fair and fausea that causes my smart,

I lo'ed her meikle and lang;b

She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.

A coofc came in with routh o' gear,d
And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,
Nae ferliee 'tis though fickle she prove,
A woman has 't by kind:

O woman lovely, woman fair!

An angel form 's faun' to thy share,

'Twad been owre meikle to gien thee mair,

I mean an angel mind.

SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.

'She says she lo'es me best of a', is one of the pleasantest table songs I have seen, and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going round.'-Thomson to Burns.

Tune.-Onagh's Water-fall.

SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'er-arching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.

Her smiling sae wyling,

Wad make a wretch forget his woe;

What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto these rosy lips to grow!

Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
When first her bonnie face I saw,

b Much and long.

a False.
d Plenty of wealth.

c Blockhead.

e Wonder.

f Fallen.