VI.
She gaz’d—she redden’d like a rose—
Syne 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!
VII.
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!
VIII.
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 of danger.
CXCIV.
MEG O’ THE MILL.
Air—“Hey! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?”