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3 O fickle Fortune! Why this cruel sporting? O why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your smiles can cheer me, Nae mair your frowns can fear me, For the flowers of the forest are wither’d away.

THE SOLDIER’S RETURN.

When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn And gentle peace returning, And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, That had been blear’d wi' mourning. I left the lines and tented fields, Whar lang I‘d been a lodger; A humble knapsack on my back, A poor but honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi’ plunder; And for fair Scotia, 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.