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The king gave him his gay gold ring,

And made him there a belted knight; But Milburn bled to save his king!

The king to save his royal right!

The king gave him his gay gold ring,

And made him there a belted knight; But Milburn bled to save his king!

The king to save his royal right!

SANDY TOD.

A SCOTTISH PASTORAL.

TO A LADY.

You ha'e learned in love to languish,

You ha'e felt affliction's rod, Murn wi' me the meltin' anguish, : ;

Murn the loss o' Sandy Tod.

Sandy was a lad o' vigour,

Clean an' tight o' lith an' lim'. For a decent, manly figure,

Few cou'd ding or equal him.

In a cottage, poor and nameless,

By a little bouzy linn, Sandy led a life so blameless,

Far frae ony strife or din.

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Annan's fertile dale beyon' him,

Spread her fields an' meadows green; Hoary Hertfell towered aboon him,

Smilin' to the sun-gude e'en.

Few his wants, his wishes fewer, :

Save his flocks nae care had he ; Never heart than his was truer,

Tender to the last degree.

He was learned, and every tittle

E'er he read believed it true; Savin' chapters cross an' kittle,

He cou'd read his bible through.

Oft he read the acts o' Joseph,

How wi' a' his friends he met; Ay the hair his noddle rose off,

Ay his cheeks wi' tears were wet.

Seven bonny buskit simmers

O’er the Solway Frith had fled, Since a flock o' ewes an' gimmers

Out amang the hills he fed.

Some might bragg o' knowledge deeper,

But nae herd was lo'ed sae weel; Sandy's hirsel proved their keeper

Was a cannie carefu' chiel'.

Ay when ony tentless lammie

Wi' its neibours chanced to go, Sandy kend the careless mammy,

Whether she cried mae or no.

Warldly walth an' grandeur scornin',

Peace adorned his little bield ; Ilka e'enin', ilka mornin',

Sandy to his Maker kneeled.

You wha roun' wi' diamonds wrap ye,

An' are fanned wi’ loud applause, Can ye trou the lad was happy ?

Really 'tis believed he was.

In the day sae black an' showery,

I ha'e seen the bonny bow, When arrayed in all its glory,

Vanish on the mountain's brow.

Sae ha'e ye, my lovely marrow,

Seen the rose an' vi’let blue, Bloomin' on the banks of Yarrow,

Quickly fade, an' lose their hue;

Fadin' as the forest roses,

Transient as the radiant bow, Fleetin' as the shower that follows,

Is our happiness below.

Unadmired she'll hover near ye,

In the rural sport she'll play ;
Woo her-she'll at distance hear ye,

Press her-she is gane for ay.

She had Sandy ay attendit,

Seemed obedient to his nod; Now his happy hours are endit,

Lack-a-day for Sandy Tod.

I' the kirk ae Sunday sittin',

Whar to be he seldom failed, Sandy's tender heart was smitten

Wi' a wound that never healed;

Sally, dressed i' hat an' feather,

Placed her in a neibrin' pew, Sandy sat—he kendna whether!

Sandy felt-he wistna how.

Though the priest alarmed the audience,

An' drew tears frae mony een, Sandy heard a noise like baudrons

Murrin' i' the bed at e'en !

Aince or twice his sin alarmed him,

Down he looked, an' wished a prayer; Sally had o' sense disarmed him,

Heart an' mind an' a' was there!

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