Volume I Part 36 (2/2)
Whatreck, a' the stour cam to naething; Sae Symon, and Janet his dame, Hale skart frae the wars, without skaithing, Gaed bannin' the French again hame.
COQUET WATER.
AIR--_”Braw Lads of Gala Water.”_
Whan winter winds forget to blaw, An' vernal suns revive pale nature, A shepherd lad by chance I saw, Feeding his flocks by Coquet water.
Saft, saft he sung, in melting lays, His Mary's charms an' matchless feature, While echoes answer'd frae the braes, That skirt the banks of Coquet water.
”Oh, were that bonnie la.s.sie mine,”
Quoth he, ”in love's saft wiles I'd daut her; An' deem mysel' as happy syne, As landit laird on Coquet water.
”Let wealthy rakes for pleasure roam, In foreign lands their fortune fritter; But love's pure joys be mine at home, Wi' my dear la.s.s on Coquet water.
”Gie fine focks wealth, yet what care I, Gie me her smiles whom I lo'e better; Blest wi' her love an' life's calm joy, Tending my flocks by Coquet water.
”Flow fair an' clear, thou bonnie stream, For on thy banks aft hae I met her; Fair may the bonnie wild-flowers gleam, That busk the banks of Coquet water.”
THE YOUNG MAID'S WISH FOR PEACE.
AIR--_”Far frae Hame,” &c._
Fain wad I, fain wad I hae the b.l.o.o.d.y wars to cease, An' the nations restored again to unity an' peace; Then mony a bonnie laddie, that 's now far owre the sea, Wad return to his la.s.sie, an' his ain countrie.
My lad was call'd awa for to cross the stormy main, An' to face the battle's bray in the cause of injured Spain; But in my love's departure hard fate has injured me, That has reft him frae my arms, an' his ain countrie.
When he bade me adieu, oh! my heart was like to break, An' the parting tear dropp'd down for my dear laddie's sake; Kind Heavens protect my Willie, wherever he be, An' restore him to my arms, an' his ain countrie.
Yes, may the fates defend him upon that hostile sh.o.r.e, Amid the rage of battle, where thund'ring cannons roar; In the sad hour of danger, when deadly bullets flee, Far frae the peacefu' plains of his ain countrie.
Wae 's me, that vice had proven the source of blood an' war, An' sawn amang the nations the seeds of feud an' jar: But it was cruel Cain, an' his grim posterity, First began the b.l.o.o.d.y wark in their ain countrie.
An' oh! what widows weep, an' helpless orphans cry!
On a far foreign sh.o.r.e now, the dear, dear ashes lie, Whose life-blood stain'd the gowans of some far foreign lea, Far frae their kith an' kin, an' their ain countrie.
Hail the day, speed the day, then, when a' the wars are done!
An' may ilk British laddie return wi' laurels won; On my dear Willie's brows may they flourish bonnily, An' be wi' the myrtle twined in his ain countrie.
But I hope the time is near, when sweet peace her olive wand To lay the fiend of war shall soon stretch o'er every land, When swords turn'd into ploughshares and pruning-hooks shall be, An' the nations a' live happy in their ain countrie.
THE FIDDLER'S WIDOW.
There was a musician wha play'd a good stick, He had a sweet wife an' a fiddle, An' in his profession he had right good luck At bridals his elbow to diddle.
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