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 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 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 wad 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 onie 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 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.

["Burns, I have been informed, was one summer evening at the inn at Brownhill, near Dumfries, with a couple of friends, when a poor way-worn soldier passed the window: of a sudden it struck the poet to call him in, and get the story of his adventures; after listening to which, he all at once fell into one of those fits of abstraction not unusual with him. He was lifted to the region where he had his 'Garland and Singing Robes' about him, and the result was the admirable song for the Mill, Mill O.'"-GEO. THOMSON.]

BONNIE LESLEY.

ROBERT BURNS.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;

For Nature made her what she is,
And never made anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he cou'dna scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee."

The powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha'na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !

That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

["This rhapsody I composed on a charming Ayrshire girl, Miss Lesley Baillie, as she passed through Dumfries to England."BURNS.

The poet accompanied Miss Baillie (afterwards Mrs. Cuming of Logie) and her father, fifteen miles on their road; "out of pure devotion to admire the loveliness of the works of God." Returning home he composed the above ballad, making a parody, he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, upon an old ballad beginning—

My bonnie Lizie Bailie

I'll rowe thee in my pladie.

"I am in love," said the poet to another correspondent, souse ! over head and ears, deep as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean, with the most beautiful, elegant woman in the world."]

HAD IA CAVE,

ROBERT BURNS.

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,

Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar ·

There would I weep my woes,

There seek my lost repose,

Till grief my eyes should close,

Ne'er to wake more.

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
All thy fond plighted vows-fleeting as air!
To thy new lover hie,

Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there!

[This "sublime song," as Mr. Cunningham justly calls it, relates, Burns tells us, to "an unfortunate part" of his friend Alexander Cunningham's story. The concluding verse when sung with great feeling, is awfully grand.]

GALLA WATER.

ROBERT BURNS.

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander thro' the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
Can match the lads o' Galla water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I loe him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Galla water.

Although his daddie was nae laird,
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.