Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
A waefu' day it was to me;
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.
Their winding sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman's e'e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair,
That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.
O LOGAN! Sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsyne have o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear,
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bow'rs,
The bees hum round the breathing flow'rs;
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.
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.
O, wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make monie 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 happier days,
And Willie, hame to Logan braes'
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless,
And monie 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's 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 pass'd the mill and trystin' 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 lass,
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 cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd she redden'd like a rose
Syne 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.
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!
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger'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.
LORD GREGORY.
O MIRK, milk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r -
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frac her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me show,
If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,
By bonic wine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied.
|