[Footnote 139: This second line was originally--"If love it may na be, Oh!"]

CXCII.

JESSIE.

Tune--"_Bonnie Dundee._"

[Jessie Staig, the eldest daughter of the provost of Dumfries, was the heroine of this song. She became a wife and a mother, but died early in life: she is still affectionately remembered in her native place.]

I.

True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain; Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

II.

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, And sweet is the lily at evening close; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.

Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law: And still to her charms she alone is a stranger-- Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'!

CXCIII.

THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER.

Air--"_The Mill, Mill, O._"

[Burns, it is said, composed this song, once very popular, on hearing a maimed soldier relate his adventures, at Brownhill, in Nithsdale: it was published by Thomson, after suggesting some alterations, which were properly rejected.]

I.

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.

II.

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.

III.

At length I reach'd the bonny 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.

IV.

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 wud be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country lang-- Take pity on a sodger.

V.

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, And lovelier was then ever; Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'd, 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.

VI.

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!

VII.

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!

VIII.

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.

CXCIV.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Air--"_Hey! bonnie la.s.s, will you lie in a barrack?_"

["Do you know a fine air," Burns asks Thomson, April, 1973, "called 'Jackie Hume's Lament?' I have a song of considerable merit to that air: I'll enclose you both song and tune, as I have them ready to send to the Museum." It is probable that Thomson liked these verses too well to let them go willingly from his hands: Burns touched up the old song with the same starting line, but a less delicate conclusion, and published it in the Museum.]

I.

O 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 claute o' siller, And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

II.

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.