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The Lammy/Chapter 2

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For other versions of this work, see The Soldier's Return (Burns).
The Lammy
by Anonymous
The Soldier's Return by Robert Burns
3704373The Lammy — The Soldier's ReturnRobert Burns (1759-1796)

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

When wild war's deadly blast had blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
And eyes-gain with pleasure beam'd,
That had been blear'd with mourning.

I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I had been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor, but honest sodger.

A leal light heart beat in my breast,
My hard unstain'd wi' plunder,
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought npon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile,
That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where early life I sported
I passed the mill and trysting throrn,
Whare 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'e was swelling.

Wi' altered voice, quoth I, sweet maid,
Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom,
O happy happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom.
My purse is light, I've far te gang,

Fain wad I be thy lodger;
I've serv'd my king and country lang,
Tak pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier grew than ever,
Quo' she. a sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never;
Our humble cot and hamely fare,
Ye free y shall partake o t;
That galiant badge, the near cockade,
You're welcome for the sake o't.

She gaz'd, she redden'd like a rose,
Syne pale as ony lily,
She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou mine ain dear Willie?
By him that made yon sea and sky.
By whom true ove'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 mailing plenished fairly,

Come then, my faithfu sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dear y.

For gold the merchant plows the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor,
But glory is the soldier's prize
The soger’s wealth is honour.
The brave por sodger be'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember, he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.