23 Here, supported, cheered, and cherished, Nine blest months I've lived, and mair; Seen these infants clad and nourished, Dried my tears, and tint despair : Sometimes servin', sometimes spinnin', Light the lanesome hours gae round, Lightly, too, ilk quarter rinnin' Brings yon angel's helping pound." Eight pounds mair," cried Willie, fondly- "Eight pounds mair will do nae harm; And, oh Jean ! gin friends were kindly, Twelve pounds soon might stock a farm, There ance mair, to thrive by ploughin', Freed frae a' that peace destroys- Idle waste and drucken ruin, War, and a' its murdering joys!" Thrice he kissed his lang lost treasure- Thrice ilk bairn, but couldna speak; Tears of love, and hope, and pleasure, Streamed in silence down his cheek.
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