I watch'd her thro' the daisied howmes.

And pray'd for her returnin;

Then track'd her foot-marks thro' the wood,

My smitten heart aw burnin

Luive led me on; but when, at last,
In fancy meyne I thought her,
I saw her awn dear happy lad
Meet Andrew's youngest dowter.

Sing sweet, ye wild birds i' the glens,
Where'er young Lizzy wanders;
Ye streams of Irthin, please her ears
Aw day wi' soft meanders;

And thou, the lad ay neist her heart,
Caress this bonny blossom;

Oh, never may the thworn o' care
Gi'e pain to sec a bosom !

Had I been king o' this weyde warl,

And kingdoms cud ha'e bought her,

I'd freely parted wi' them aw,

For Andrew's youngest dowter!

BALLAD LXXIII.

SOLDIER YEDDY.

TUNE," The widow can bake."

PEER Yeddy was brought up a fadderless bairn, His jacket blue duffle, his stockins coarse gairn; His mudder, sad greaceless! liv'd near Talkin Tarn, But ne'er did a turn for her Yeddy.

Weel shep'd, and fair feac'd, wid a bonny blue e'e,
Honest-hearted, ay merry, stil! teydey was he;
But nae larnin had gotten, nor kent A B C;
There's owre monny like silly Yeddy.

Suin tir'd o' the cwoal-pit, and drivin a car,
Won by fedders, cockades, and the fuil'ries o' war,
He wad see feyne fwok, and grand pleaces afar,
The bad warl was aw new to lal Yeddy.

How temptin the liquor, and bonny bank nwote! How temptin the pouder, sash, gun, and red cwoat! Then the Frenchmen, die bin them! we'll kill the whole twote!

These, these were his thoughts, honest Yeddy. ́

Awhile wi' his cronies he'll smuik, laugh and sing, Tell of wonders, and brag of his country and king, And swagger, and larn of new oaths a sad stringThese little avail simple Yeddy.

For suin he may sing to another-guess tune,
His billet a bad yen, his kelter aw duin;
And faint at his post, by the pale winter muin,
Nae comfort awaits luckless Yeddy.

When Time steals his colour, and turns his

grey,

pow

May he tell merry stories, nor yence rue the day, When he wander'd, peer lad! frae the fell seyde away, This, this is my wish for young Yeddy.

Of lads sec as him may we ne'er be in want,
And a brave soldier's pocket of brass ne'er be scant!
Nit the brags o' proud Frenchmen auld England can
daunt,

While we've plenty like young soldier Yeddy.

BALLAD LXXIV.

THE DAWTIE.

TUNE," I'm o'er young to marry yet.”

JENNY.

"THO' weel I like ye, Jwohnny lad,
I cannot, munnet marry yet!
My peer auld mudder's unco bad,
Sae we a wheyle mun tarry yet;

For ease or comfort she has neane;
Leyfe's just a lang, lang neet o' pain:
I munnet leave her aw her leane,
And wunnet, wunnet marry yet!"

JWOHNNY.

"O Jenny! dunnet brek this heart,

And say, we munnet marry yet;

Thou cannot act a jillet's part—
Why sud we tarry, tarry yet?

Think, lass, of aw the pains I feel;
I've leyk'd thee lang, nin kens how week!

For thee, I'd feace the varra deil

Oh say not, we maun tarry yet!"

JENNY.

"A weddet leyfe's oft dearly bought :
I cannot, munnet marry yet!
Ye ha'e but little-I ha'e nought,

Sae, we a wheyle mun tarry yet.

My heart's yer awn, ye needna fear,
But let us wait anudder year,

And luive, and toil, and screape up gear;
We munnet, munnet marry yet!

'Twas but yestreen, my mudder said, "O, dawtie! dunnet marry yet! I'll suin lig i' my last cauld bed; Tou's aw my comfort-tarry yet!"

Whene'er I steal out o' her seet,

She seeghs, and sobs, and nought gangs reetWhisht!-That's her feeble voice.-Guid neet! We munnet, munnet marry yet!"