THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE

TO HIS MISTRESS.

Tune-" Deil tak the wars."

I lock'd her in my fond embrace! Her heart was beating rarelyMy blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley!

That shone that hour sae clearly! She aye shall bless that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gathering gear ;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Though they were doubled fairly,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

Tune-" The Mill, Mill, O."

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
And eyes again wi' pleasure beam'd,

That had been blear'd wi' mourning 3
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 beat in my breast,
My hands 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 bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported;

I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy oft 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 ee 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 wad be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country lang Tak pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gazed on me,

And lovelier grew than ever; Quoth she, A sodger ance I loved, Forget him will I never.

THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE

TO HIS MISTRESS.

Tune-" Deil tak the wars."

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ! Her heart was beating rarelyMy blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley!

Now through the leafy woods,

And by the reeking floods;

Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower:

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

That shone that hour sae clearly! She aye shall bless that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gathering gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Though they were doubled fairly,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

Tune-" The Mill, Mill, O."

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,

And eyes again wi' pleasure beam'd,
That had been blear'd wi' mourning 3
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 beat in my breast,
My hands 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 bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported;

I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy oft 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 ee 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 wad be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country lang Tak pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gazed on me,

And lovelier grew than ever; Quoth she, A sodger ance I loved, Forget him will I never.

Our humble cot and hamely fare,

Ye freely shall partake o't; That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gazed she redden'd like a rose-
Syne pale as ony 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 inan! and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted; Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. Quoth she, My grandsire left me gowd, A mailin plenish'd fairly; Then come, my faithfu' 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.

THE BANKS OF NITH.
Tune-"Robie Donna Gorach."

THE Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith to me,

Where Cummins ance had high command: When shall I see that honoured land,

That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here.

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom!
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!

"Burns, I have been informed," says a clergyman

of Dumfriesshire, in a letter to Mr. George Thomson, editor of Select Melodies of Scotland, was one sum mer evening in 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 recital of his adventures; after hearing which, he all at once fell into one of those fits of ab. straction, not unusual to him. He was lifted to the region where he had his garland and his singing-robes about him, and the result was this admirable song sent you for The Mill, Mill, O.'"

he

Tune-"Laddie, lie near me."

'TWAS na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin; Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoin' : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But though fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter ;
Sooner the sun in his motion shall falter.

THERE'S NEWS, LASSES.

THERE'S news, lasses, news, Gude news hae I to tell;

There's a boat fu' o' lads Come to our toun to sell.

The wean wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod;
And I'll no gang to my bed,

Until I get a nod.

Father, quo' she, Mother, quo' she,
Do ye what ye can,
I'll no gang to my bed

Till I get a man.
The wean, &c.

I hae as gude a craft-rig
As made o' yird and stane;
And waly fa' the ley crap,
For I maun till't again.
The wean, &c.

THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER.

Tune-" Morag."

LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young highland rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May heaven be his warden: Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon!

The trees now naked groaning, Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,

Shall a' be blythely singing, And every flower be springing. Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, When by his mighty warden My youth's returned to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon."

THERE's a youth in this city, it were a great pity

That he from our lasses should wander awa; For he's bonnie and braw, weel-favour'd with a', And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

His feckett is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae,

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a.' His coat is the hue, &c.