Page:My friend and pitcher.pdf/6

6 Who picks, and culls and cries aloud 'Sweet liilies of the valley.’

From whistling o’er the harrow’d turf, From nestling of each tree, I chose a soldier’s life to wed, So social, gay, and free: Yet tho’ the lasses love me well. And often try to rally, None pleases me like her who cries ‘ Sweet lillies of the valley.’

I’m now return’d, of late discharg'd, To see my native soil; From fighting in my country’s cause, To plough my country’s soil: I care not which, with either pleas’d, So 1 possess my Sally, That little merry nymph who cries ‘Sweet lillies of the valley.’'

ETRICK BANKS.

On’ Etrick banks, in a summer’s night, At gloaming, when the sheep drove hame I met my lassie, braw and tight, Come wading barefoot a'her lane. My heart grew light; I ran, and fling My arms about her lily neck,