Burns’s house at Dumfries, in July, 1796, five years later.
It is a sweltering afternoon, and Burns, worn and ill, is seated by the open window, looking out on to the street.
Out in the town can be heard a drum and fife band. As it comes nearer and passes away, Burns sings with some effort.
When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi’ mony a sweet babe 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,