The Queensferry boatie rows light,|
And light is thin heart that it bears,
For it brings the poor soldier safe back to his home
From many long toilsome years.
2. How sweet are his green native hills,
3. I can well mark the tears of his joy,
4. But fled are his visions of bliss,|
All his transports but rose to deceive,
He found the dear cottage a tenantless waste,
And his kindred all sunk to the grave.
5. Lend a sigh to the soldier's grief,
6. To him let your answers be mild,
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