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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 then 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 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 man: and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded!