Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 92

O ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded, An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded?

The groom gat sae fou', he fell awald beside it, And that's how Meg o' the Mill was bedded.

The Soldier's Return

Air--"The Mill, mill, O."

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, A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; And for fair Scotia hame again, I cheery on did wander: I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonie glen, Where early life I sported; I pa.s.s'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 la.s.s, 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 than 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 c.o.c.kade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't."

She gaz'd--she redden'd like a rose-- Syne pale like only 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 we'se ne'er be parted."

Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd, A mailen plenish'd fairly; And come, my faithfu' sodger lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!"

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the sodger's prize, The sodgerpppp's wealth is honor: 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.

Versicles, A.D. 1793

The True Loyal Natives

Ye true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt, But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!

On Commissary Goldie's Brains

Lord, to account who dares thee call, Or e'er dispute thy pleasure?

Else why, within so thick a wall, Enclose so poor a treasure?

Lines Inscribed In A Lady's Pocket Almanac

Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live, To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.

Thanksgiving For A National Victory

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks?

To murder men and give G.o.d thanks!

Desist, for shame!--proceed no further; G.o.d won't accept your thanks for Murther!

Lines On The Commemoration Of Rodney's Victory

Instead of a Song, boy's, I'll give you a Toast; Here's to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!-- That we lost, did I say?--nay, by Heav'n, that we found; For their fame it will last while the world goes round.

The next in succession I'll give you's the King!

Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing!

And here's the grand fabric, our free Const.i.tution, As built on the base of our great Revolution!

And longer with Politics not to be cramm'd, Be Anarchy curs'd, and Tyranny d.a.m.n'd!

And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, May his son be a hangman--and he his first trial!

The Raptures Of Folly

Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures; Give me with young Folly to live; I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give.

Kirk and State Excis.e.m.e.n

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excis.e.m.e.n? Give the cause a hearing: What are your Landlord's rent-rolls? Taxing ledgers!

What Premiers? What ev'n Monarchs? Mighty Gaugers!

Nay, what are Priests? (those seeming G.o.dly wise-men,) What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excis.e.m.e.n!

Extempore Reply To An Invitation