I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.

3 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 e'en was swelling.

4 Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, 'Sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, Oh! 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 served my king and country lang,-
Take pity on a sodger.'

5 Sae wistfully she gazed 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 o't;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.'

6 She gazed-she redden'd like a roseSyne 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.

7 The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted!
Though 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.'

8 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.

MEG O' THE MILL.

AIR-O bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?'

1 Он, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley miller.

2 The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady:
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

3 The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving:
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear-chainèd briddle,
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.

4 Oh wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen !
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl'!

SONG.

TUNE-Liggeram Cosh.'

1 BLITHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,

As the breeze flew o'er me;
Now nae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;

Lesley is sae fair and coy,
Care and anguish seize mc.

2 Heavy, heavy, is the task,
Hopeless love declaring:
Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,
Sighing, dumb, despairing!

If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling;
Underneath the grass-green sod,
Soon maun be my dwelling.

LOGAN WATER.

TUNE-Logan Water.'

1 OH, Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride!
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

2 Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,

The bees hum round the breathing flowers:

Blithe Morning lifts his rosy eye,

And Evening's tears are tears of joy:

My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.

3 Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ;
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile:

But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights, and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.

4 O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan braes!

SONG.

AIR-Hughie Graham.'

1 Он, gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa',

And I mysel' a drap o' dew,

Into her bonnie breast to fa'!

2 Oh, there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night: Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.

3 Oh, were my love yon lilac fair,

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing!