Poem by Isabel Pagan

* * *

Tune—The Mill, the Mill-O

Now once a young man courted me,
And wan my tender heart, O,
Now he is gone to serve the king,
Woes me that we must part, O.

CHORUS.
O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken by bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

A serjeant unto Muirkirk came,
And tempt'd him with much money,
And he was swear't to let him gang,
He handsome was and bonny.
O the wars, &c.

His face was fair, his humour free,
With modest kind discretion,
Great honesty experienc'd he,
As many in the nation.
O the wars, &c.

The forge hammer lies by for him,
Alas! now his room is empty,
And he must learn a soldier's reel,
To hear their drums they tempt ay.
O the wars, &c.

At night when I should take my rest,
Mine eye's debar'd from sleeping,
To think on him that I love best,
That has my heart a-keeping.
O the wars, &c.

May Providence preserve him still,
Tho' he be turn'd a rover,
And left me sore against my will,
A poor unhappy lover.
O the wars, &c.

But Providence grant the wars may cease,
That I once more may see him,
Their blackguard tongues is ill to bear,
I wish I had gone with him.
O the wars, &c.

1. Aughlen Spring
2. There Came a Bold Hero of Late from the West
3. The Duke of Gordon's Fencibles
4. A New Song on the Times
5. Account of the Author’s Lifetime

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