THE SODGER'S RETURN.

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-
Syne1 pale like onie 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,
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 is 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 o' danger.

405

406

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.1

Tune--"Captain O‘Kean.”

THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are numbered by care? No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice,
A King or a Father, to place on his throne ?
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched forlorn;
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn :
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial,
Alas! can I make you no sweeter return?.

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE,
Tune-"The maid's complaint."

Ir is na, Jean, thy bonnie face
Nor shape that I admire,
Although thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awake desire.
Something in ilka part o' thee

To praise, to love, I find;
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.

Supposed to be spoken by the young Prince Charles Edward, when wandering in the Highlands of Scotland, after his fatal defeat at Culloden.-Thomson,

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than if I canna mak thee sae,

At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if Heaven shall give
But happiness to thee:

And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.

407

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.1

Tune-"Bhannerach dhon na chri."

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,

In the gay, rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew!
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

O spare the dear blossoms, ye orient breezes,

With chill, hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn! Let Bourbon exult in his gay, gilded lilies,

And England triumphant, display her proud rose: A fairer than either adorns the green valleys

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

This song was composed on Charlotte Hamilton, a beautiful girl, the sister of the Poet's friend, Gavin Hamilton,

408

O TIBBIE! I HAVE SEEN THE DAY.

SHELAH O'NEIL.

WHEN first I began for to sigh and to woo her,
Of many fine things I did say a great deal,
But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best,
Was, oh! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil?
My point I soon carried, for straight we were married,
Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel,—
For she scolded, she fisted—O then I enlisted,

Left Ireland and whiskey, and Shelah O'Neil.

Then tired and dull-hearted, O then I deserted,
And fled into regions far distant from home,
To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me,
Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb.

I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle,

Felt sharp shot, alas! and the sharp-pointed steel; But in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found Ought so sharp as the tongue of my Shelah O'Neil.

O TIBBIE, I HA'E SEEN THE DAY.1

"Tibbie

"

[Composed at Seventeen years of age.]

Tune-" Invercauld's Reel."

CHORUS.

O TIBBIE! I ha'e seen the day
Ye wad na been sae shy;
For lack o' gear ye lightly me,
But trowth, I care na by.

was the daughter of a portioner of Kyle-i.e, the proprietor of three acres of peat-moss-who thought herself rich enough to treat a ploughman with contempt.

O TIBBIE! I HA'E SEEN THE DAY.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak' na, but gaed by like stoure.1
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye ha'e the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Although his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows such a saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.

Although a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.

But if he ha'e the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice:
Your daddie's gear mak's you sae nice;
The de'il a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would nae g'ie her in her sark
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark !
Ye need nae look sae high.

409

1 Dust.