Last week, when our hopes were o’erclouded wi’ fear,
    And nae ane at hame the dull prospect to cheer;
    Our Johnnie has written, frae far awa’ parts,
    A letter that lightens and hauds up our hearts. 
    He says, “My dear mither, though I be awa’,
    In love and affection I ‘m still wi’ ye a’;
    While I hae a being ye ‘se aye hae a ha’,
    Wi’ plenty to keep out the frost and the snaw.”

    My mither, o’erjoy’d at this change in her state,
    By the bairn she doated on early and late,
    Gi’es thanks night and day to the Giver of a’,
    There ‘s been naething unworthy o’ him that ‘s awa’! 
    Then here is to them that are far frae us a’,
    The friend that ne’er fail’d us, though farest awa’! 
    Health, peace, and prosperity wait on us a’;
    And a blithe comin’ hame to the friend that ‘s awa’!

MY JOHNNIE.

AIR—­"Johnnie’s Gray Breeks."

    Jenny’s heart was frank and free,
      And wooers she had mony, yet
    The sang was aye, “Of a’ I see,
      Commend me to my Johnnie yet. 
    For ear’ and late, he has sic gate
      To mak’ a body cheerie, that
    I wish to be, before I dee,
      His ain kind dearie yet.”

    Now Jenny’s face was fu’ o’ grace,
      Her shape was sma’ and genty-like,
    And few or nane in a’ the place,
      Had gowd or gear mair plenty, yet
    Though war’s alarms, and Johnnie’s charms,
      Had gart her oft look eerie, yet
    She sung wi’ glee, “I hope to be
      My Johnnie’s ain dearie yet.

    “What though he’s now gane far awa’,
      Whare guns and cannons rattle, yet
    Unless my Johnnie chance to fa’
      In some uncanny battle, yet
    Till he return my breast will burn
      Wi’ love that weel may cheer me yet,
    For I hope to see, before I dee,
      His bairns to him endear me yet.”

THE TROOPS WERE EMBARKED.

    The troops were all embark’d on board,
      The ships were under weigh,
    And loving wives, and maids adored,
      Were weeping round the bay.

    They parted from their dearest friends,
      From all their heart desires;
    And Rosabel to Heaven commends
      The man her soul admires!

    For him she fled from soft repose,
      Renounced a parent’s care;
    He sails to crush his country’s foes,
      She wanders in despair!

    A seraph in an infant’s frame
      Reclined upon her arm;
    And sorrow in the lovely dame
      Now heighten’d every charm: 

    She thought, if fortune had but smiled—­
      She thought upon her dear;
    But when she look’d upon his child,
      Oh, then ran many a tear!

    “Ah! who will watch thee as thou sleep’st? 
      Who ’ll sing a lullaby,
    Or rock thy cradle when thou weep’st,
      If I should chance to die?”