Koerner of Dresden, and the last and most remarkable of his patriotic productions, wherein the soldier addresses his sword as his bride, thereby giving expression to the most glowing sentiments of patriotism.  Macintyre addresses as his wife the musket which he carried as an officer of the guard; and is certainly as enthusiastic in praise of his new acquisition, as ever was love-sick swain in eulogy of the most attractive fair one.

    Oh! mony a turn of woe and weal
      May happen to a Highlan’ man;
    Though he fall in love he soon may feel
      He cannot get the fancied one;
    The first I loved in time that ’s past,
      I courted twenty years, ochone! 
    But she forsook me at the last,
      And Duncan then was left alone.

    To Edinbro’ I forthwith hied
      To seek a sweetheart to my mind,
    An’, if I could, to find a bride
      For the fause love I left behind;
    Said Captain Campbell of the Guard,
      “I ken a widow secretly,
    An’ I ’ll try, as she ’s no that ill faur’d,
      To put her, Duncan, in your way.”

    As was his wont, I trow, did he
      Fulfil his welcome promise true,
    He gave the widow unto me,
      And all her portion with her too;
    And whosoe’er may ask her name,
      And her surname also may desire,
    They call her Janet[125]—­great her fame—­
      An’ ’twas George who was her grandsire.

    She ‘s quiet, an’ affable, an’ free,
      No vexing gloom or look at hand,
    As high in rank and in degree
      As any lady in the land;
    She ’s my support and my relief,
      Since e’er she join’d me, any how;
    Great is the cureless cause of grief
      To him who has not got her now!

    Nic-Coisean[126] I ’ve forsaken quite,
      Altho’ she liveth still at ease—­
    An’ allow the crested stags to fight
      And wander wheresoe’er they please,
    A young wife I have chosen now,
      Which I repent not any where,
    I am not wanting wealth, I trow,
      Since ever I espoused the fair.

    I pass my word of honour bright—­
      Most excellent I do her call;
    In her I ne’er, in any light,
      Discover’d any fault at all. 
    She is stately, fine, an’ straight, an’ sound,
      Without a hidden fault, my friend;
    In her, defect I never found,
      Nor yet a blemish, twist, or bend.

    When needy folk are pinch’d, alas! 
      For money in a great degree;
    Ah, George’s daughter—­generous lass—­
      Ne’er lets my pockets empty be;
    She keepeth me in drink, and stays
      By me in ale-houses and all,
    An’ at once, without a word, she pays
      For every stoup I choose to call!

    An’ every turn I bid her do
      She does it with a willing grace;
    She never tells me aught untrue,
      Nor story false, with lying face;
    She keeps my rising family
      As well as I could e’er desire,
    Although no labour I do try,
      Nor dirty work for love or hire.