To Mr. Thomson

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e; Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers! Oh how your wild horrors a lover alarms! Awaken, ye breezes! blow gently, ye billows! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie, O still flow between us, thou wide, roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! I leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether the above, or the old "Thro' the lang muir I have followed my Willie," be the best. R. B.