NY-Military-L Archives

From: "DonLinda" <>
Subject: [NY-MILITARY] May 19-1863: Our Returning Soldiers
Date: Mon, 9 Oct 2006 09:01:34 -0400

source:
Republican Advocate - Batavia NY
May 19-1863

transcribed & submitted by L. Schmidt

Our Returning Soldiers.

The following Poem by Robert Burns is not inappropriate at the present
time, when so many of our gallant and veteran soldiers are returning home.
It is full of the beauty and spirit which belong almost alone to Burns:

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 tinted field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A por and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstained wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotla's 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 reached the bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I passed the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain der maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling,
And turned me round to hide the flood
That in my e'en was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I , sweet lass -
Sweet as you hawthorn's blossom, -
O, happy, happy maybe he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I've served my King and Country lang,
Take pity on a sodger.

She wistfully gazed on me,
And lovelier than ever:
Quo' she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never.
Our humble cot and hamley fare,
Ye freely shall partake it,
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gazed - she reddened like a rose -
Syne, pale like any lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou my aid dear Willie?
By Him who made you 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 ture hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, My grandsire left me growd,
A mailen plenished fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.

For gold the merchant plows the main,
The farmer plows the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize;
The sodger's wealth is honor;
The brave, poor sodger ne'er dispise,
Nor count him as a stranger,
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
*

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• [NY-MILITARY] May 19-1863: Our Returning Soldiers by "DonLinda" <>