The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,

I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,

Till I met thy old boy at a Cunningham fair;

His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,

My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

And now I have lived-I know not how long,

And still I can join in a cup and a song ; But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

RECITATIVO.

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk,

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,

Between themselves they were sae busy: At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, He stoiter'd up and made a face :

Then turn'd, and laid a smack on Grizzie, Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace :

AIR.

TUNE-"Auld Sir Symon."

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, Sir Knave is a fool in a session; He's there but a 'prentice, I trow,

But I am a fool by profession.

My grannie she bought me a beuk,
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool?

Perfume, congenial to the clime, The sweetest in the sweetest time! The merry bells, in jocund chime, Rang through the air, And minstrels play'd in strains sublime, To charm the fair!

And fairer than our Nithsdale fair, Or handsomer, there's nane elsewhere! Pure as the streams that murmur there, In them ye'll find

That virtue and the graces rare

Are a' enshrin'd!

Lang may the bonnie bairns recline On plenty's bosom, saft and kind! And, O! may I, ere life shall dwine To its last scene,

Return, and a' my sorrows tine,
At hame again!

LOGAN'S BRAES.

"By Logan's streams that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep;
Herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart! thae days are gane,
And I, wi' grief, may herd alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

"Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me;
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane―
Frae kirk an' fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes!

While for her love she thus did sigh,1
She saw a sodger passing by,
Passing by wi' scarlet claes,

While sair she grat on Logan braes.
Says he, "What gars thee greet sae
sair,

What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care?
Thae sporting lambs hae blithesome
days,

An' playfu' skip on Logan braes."
"What can I do but weep and mourn?
I fear my lad will ne'er return,
Ne'er return to ease my waes,
Will ne'er come hame to Logan braes."
Wi' that he clasp'd her in his arms,
And said, "I'm free from war's alarms,
I now ha'e conquer'd a' my faes,
We'll happy live on Logan braes."

Then straight to Logan kirk they went,
And join'd their hands wi' one consent,
Wi' one consent to end their days,
An' live in bliss on Logan braes.
An' now she sings, "thae days are

gane,

When I wi' grief did herd alane,
While my dear lad did fight his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes."

I These three stanzas are by an anonymous author, and were added after Mayne's death.