James Hogg

The Soldier’s Widow

An’art thou fled, my bonny boy,
     An’left me here alane?
Wha now will love or care for me,
     When thou art dead an’gane?
Thy father fell in freedom’s cause,
     With gallant Moore, in Spain:
Now thou art gane, my bonny boy,
     An’left me here alane.

I hop’d, when thou were grown a man,
     To trae his looks in thine;
An’saw, wi’joy, thy sparkling eye
     Wi’kindling vigour shine.
I thought, when I was fail’d, I might
     Wi’you an’yours remain;
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
     An’left me here alane.

Now clos’d an’set thou sparkling eye!
     Thy breast is cauld as clay!
An’a’my hope, an’a’my joy,
     Wi’thee are reft away.
Ah! fain wad I that comely clay
     Reanimate again!
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
     An’left me here alane.

The flower, now fading on the lee,
     Shall fresher rise to view;
The leaf, just fallen from the tree,
     The year will soon renew:
But lang may I weep o’er thy grave,
     Ere you revive again!
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
     An’left me here alane.