The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving, The lair did address her wi’ matter mair moving, A fine pacing-horse wi’ a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle. O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin’, And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen! A tocher’s nae word in a true lover’s parle, But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl’! Meg O’ The Mill—Another Version O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten, An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten? A braw new naig wi’ the tail o’ a rottan, And that’s what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten. O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly, An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly? A dram o’ gude strunt in the morning early, And that’s what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly. O ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was married, An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was married? The priest he was oxter’d, the clark he was carried, And that’s how Meg o’ the Mill was married. O ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded, An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded? The groom gat sae fou’, he fell awald beside it, And that’s how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded. The Soldier’s Return Air—“The Mill, mill, O.” When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi’ mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning; I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I’d been a lodger, My humble knapsack a’ my wealth, A poor and 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. At length I reach’d the bonie glen, Where early life I sported; I pass’d the mill and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted: Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mother’s dwelling! And turn’d me round to hide the flood That in my een was swelling. Wi’ alter’d voice, quoth I, “Sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn’s blossom, O! happy, happy may he be, That’s dearest to thy bosom: My purse is light, I’ve far to gang, And fain would be thy lodger; I’ve serv’d my king and country lang— Take pity on a sodger.” Sae wistfully she gaz’d on me, And lovelier was than ever; Quo’ she, “A sodger ance I lo’ed, Forget him shall I never: Our humble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it; That gallant badge—the dear cockade, Ye’re welcome for the sake o’t.”