The Soldier's Return (2)/The Soldier's Return
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THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a babe sweet fatherless,
And mony 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 and honest sodger.
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a babe sweet fatherless,
And mony 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 and honest sodger.
A leal light heart was 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 of Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy;.
I thought upon the witching smile,
That caught my youthful fancy.
My hands unstain'd wi' plunder:
And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks of 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 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.
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!
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.
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!
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!
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 wese ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou're welcome for it dearly!
And find thee still true hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair wese ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou're welcome for it dearly!
For gold the merchant plows 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 of danger.
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 of danger.