There was one of us, a corporal’s wife,
      A fair young gentle thing,
    Wasted with fever in the siege,
      And her mind was wandering.

    She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid,
      And I took her head on my knee: 
    “When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,” she said,
      “Oh! please then waken me.”

    She slept like a child on her father’s floor
      In the flecking of wood-bine shade,
    When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
      And the mother’s wheel is stay’d.

    It was smoke and roar, and powder-stench,
      And hopeless waiting for death: 
    But the soldier’s wife, like a full-tired child,
      Seem’d scarce to draw her breath.

    I sank to sleep, and I had my dream,
      Of an English village-lane,
    And wall and garden;—­a sudden scream
      Brought me back to the roar again.

    Then Jessie Brown stood listening,
      And then a broad gladness broke
    All over her face, and she took my hand
      And drew me near and spoke: 

    “The Highlanders! Oh! dinna ye hear
      The slogan far awa—­
    The McGregor’s?  Ah!  I ken it weel;
      It’s the grandest o’ them a’.

    “God bless thae bonny Highlanders! 
      We’re saved! we’re saved!” she cried: 
    And fell on her knees, and thanks to God
      Pour’d forth, like a full flood-tide.

    Along the battery-line her cry
      Had fallen among the men: 
    And they started, for they were there to die: 
      Was life so near them then?

    They listen’d, for life:  and the rattling fire
      Far off, and the far-off roar
    Were all:—­and the colonel shook his head,
      And they turn’d to their guns once more.

    Then Jessie said—­“That slogan’s dune;
      But can ye no hear them, noo,—­
    The Campbells are comin’? It’s no a dream;
      Our succours hae broken through!”

    We heard the roar and the rattle afar
      But the pipes we could not hear;
    So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
      And knew that the end was near.

    It was not long ere it must be heard,—­
      A shrilling, ceaseless sound: 
    It was no noise of the strife afar,
      Or the sappers underground.

    It was the pipes of the Highlanders,
      And now they play’d “Auld Lang Syne:” 
    It came to our men like the voice of God,
      And they shouted along the line.

    And they wept and shook one another’s hands,
      And the women sobb’d in a crowd: 
    And every one knelt down where we stood,
      And we all thank’d God aloud.

    That happy day when we welcomed them,
      Our men put Jessie first;
    And the General took her hand, and cheers
      From the men, like a volley, burst.