Last week, when our hopes
were o’erclouded wi’ fear,
And nae ane at hame the dull
prospect to cheer;
Our Johnnie has written, frae
far awa’ parts,
A letter that lightens and
hauds up our hearts.
He says, “My dear mither,
though I be awa’,
In love and affection I ‘m
still wi’ ye a’;
While I hae a being ye ‘se
aye hae a ha’,
Wi’ plenty to keep out
the frost and the snaw.”
My mither, o’erjoy’d
at this change in her state,
By the bairn she doated on
early and late,
Gi’es thanks night and
day to the Giver of a’,
There ‘s been naething
unworthy o’ him that ‘s awa’!
Then here is to them that
are far frae us a’,
The friend that ne’er
fail’d us, though farest awa’!
Health, peace, and prosperity
wait on us a’;
And a blithe comin’
hame to the friend that ‘s awa’!
MY JOHNNIE.
AIR—"Johnnie’s Gray Breeks."
Jenny’s heart was frank
and free,
And wooers she
had mony, yet
The sang was aye, “Of
a’ I see,
Commend me to
my Johnnie yet.
For ear’ and late, he
has sic gate
To mak’
a body cheerie, that
I wish to be, before I dee,
His ain kind dearie
yet.”
Now Jenny’s face was
fu’ o’ grace,
Her shape was
sma’ and genty-like,
And few or nane in a’
the place,
Had gowd or gear
mair plenty, yet
Though war’s alarms,
and Johnnie’s charms,
Had gart her oft
look eerie, yet
She sung wi’ glee, “I
hope to be
My Johnnie’s
ain dearie yet.
“What though he’s
now gane far awa’,
Whare guns and
cannons rattle, yet
Unless my Johnnie chance to
fa’
In some uncanny
battle, yet
Till he return my breast will
burn
Wi’ love
that weel may cheer me yet,
For I hope to see, before
I dee,
His bairns to
him endear me yet.”
THE TROOPS WERE EMBARKED.
The troops were all embark’d
on board,
The ships were
under weigh,
And loving wives, and maids
adored,
Were weeping round
the bay.
They parted from their dearest
friends,
From all their
heart desires;
And Rosabel to Heaven commends
The man her soul
admires!
For him she fled from soft
repose,
Renounced a parent’s
care;
He sails to crush his country’s
foes,
She wanders in
despair!
A seraph in an infant’s
frame
Reclined upon
her arm;
And sorrow in the lovely dame
Now heighten’d
every charm:
She thought, if fortune had
but smiled—
She thought upon
her dear;
But when she look’d
upon his child,
Oh, then ran many
a tear!
“Ah! who will watch
thee as thou sleep’st?
Who ’ll
sing a lullaby,
Or rock thy cradle when thou
weep’st,
If I should chance
to die?”