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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 mailin plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful soldier lad, ,

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!

VIII. For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the soldier's prize,

The soldier's wealth is honour; The brave poor soldier ne'er despise,

Nor count him as a stranger ; Remember, he's his country's stay

In day and hour of danger.

SONG XVII.

O STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOOD.LARK.

AIR.-LOCHERROCH SIDE.

I.
O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art ;
For surely that would touch her heart

Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

II.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind ?
Oh, nought but love and sorrow join'd,

Sic notes of woe could wauken!
Thou tells of never-ending care,
Of speechless grief, and dark despair
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,

Or my poor heart is broken!

SONG XVIII.

HERE IS THE GLEN, &c.

AIR. THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.

I. HERE is the glen, and here the bower,

All underneath the birchen shade; The village bell has told the hour,

O what can stay my lovely maid ! 'Tis not Maria's whispering call;

'Tis but the balmy, breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail.

II.
It is Maria's voice I hear !

So calls the woodlark in the grove,
His little faithful mate to cheer,

At once 'tis music and 'tis love! And art thou come, and art thou true!

O welcome dear to love and me! And let us all our vows renew,

Along the flowery banks of Cree.

SONG XIX.

THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.

AIR. THE SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER.

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I.
The day returns, my bosom burns,

The blissful day we twa did meet,
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,

And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heav'n gave me more, it made thee mine!

II.
While day and night can bring delight,

Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,

For thee, and thee alone I live : When that grim foe of life below,

Comes in between to bid us part; The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss,-it breaks my heart !

SONG XX.

O WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL.

AIR - JEAN I LOVE THEE.

1.
O WERE I on Parnassus' hill
Or had of Helicon my fill,
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my muse's well,
My muse maun be thy bonie sell ;
On Corsincon* I'll glowr and spell,

And write how dear I love thee.

II. Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay! For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, I cou’dna sing, I cou'dna say,

How much, how dear I love thee.

* A high hill near the source of the river Nith,

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