Page:Ewie wi' the crooked horn.pdf/7

7

No more by yon castle she wanders,
To love she is no more a slave,
Bereaved of all earthly comforts,
She mouldering now lies in her grave.

---

THE MILL, MILL, O.

Beneath a green shade I fand a fair maid,
Was sleeping sound and still, O;
A' lowan wi' love, my fancy did rove,
Around her wi' good will, O.
Her bosom I prest, but sunk in her rest,
She stirr'd na my joy to spill, O:
While kindly she slept close to her I crept;
And kiss'd, and kiss'd her my fill, O.

Oblig'd by command in Flanders to land,
T' employ my courage and skill, O,
Frae her quietly I staw, hoist sails and awa,
For the wind blew fair on the billow.
Twa years brought me hame, whar loud-raising fame,
Tauld me, wi' a voice right shrill, O,
My lass, like a fool, had mounted the stool,
Nor kend wha had done her the ill, O.

Mair fond o' her charms, wi' my son in her arms,
I ferlying spier'd how she fell, O,
Wi' the tear in her ee, quo' she, let me die,
Sweet Sir, gin I can tell, O
But love gave command, I took her by the hand,
And bade a' her fears dispel, O,
And nae mair look wan, for I was the man,
Wha had done her the deed mysel, O.