THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. Susanna Blamire Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Blamire, Susanna, 1747-1794. The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire “The muse of Cumberland.” Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M.D. with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell, ... Edinburgh John Menzies, 61 Princes Street; R. Tyas, London; D. Robertson, Glasgow; and C. Thurnam, Carlisle. MDCCCXLII. 1842 pp. 220-223.

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THE SOLDIER'S RETURN . Air — Fy , gae rub her o'er wi' strae . THE wars for many a month were o'er A real incident which took place in the Highlands . — Mrs Brown . Ere I could reach my native shed , My friends ne'er hoped to see me more , But wept for me as for the dead . As I drew near , the cottage blaz'd , The evening fire was clear and bright ; And through the windows long I gaz'd , And saw each friend with dear delight . My father in his corner sat ; My mother drew her useful thread ; My brothers strove to make them chat ; My sisters bak'd the household bread : And Jean oft whisper'd to a friend , Who still let fall a silent tear ; But soon my Jessy's griefs shall end , She little thinks her Henry's near . My mother heard her catching sighs , And hid her face behind her rock ; While tears swam round in all their eyes , And not a single word they spoke . What could I do ! If in I went , Surprise might chill each tender heart ; Some story , then , I must invent , And act the poor maim'd soldier's part . I drew a bandage o'er my face , And crooked up a lying knee , And soon I found in that blest place Not one dear friend knew aught of me . I ventur'd in ; Tray wagg'd his tail , And fawning to my mother ran ; " Come here , " they cry , " what can he ail ? " While my feign'd story I began . I changed my voice to that of age , " A poor old soldier lodging craves , " — The name and form their loves engage ; — " A soldier ! aye , the best we have ! " My father then drew in a seat , " You're welcome , " with a sigh , he said ; My mother fry'd her best hung meat , And curds and cream the table spread . " I had a son , " my father sigh'd , " A soldier too , but he is gone . " " Have you heard from him ? " I replied , " I left behind me many a one ; And many a message I have brought To families I cannot find ; Long for John Goodman's I have sought To tell them Hal's not far behind . " " And does he live ! " my father cried , My mother did not try to speak ; My Jessy now I silent ey'd , Who sobb'd as if her heart would break . " He lives indeed ; this kerchief see , At parting his dear Jessy gave ; He sent it her , with love , by me , To show he yet escapes the grave . " No arrow darting from a bow More quickly could the token reach ; The patch from off my face I throw , And give my voice its well-known speech . My Jessy dear ! I softly said ; She gaz'd , and answer'd with a sigh ; My sisters look'd as half afraid , My mother fainted quite with joy . My father danc'd around his son , My brothers shook my hand away , My mother said her glass might run , She cared not now how soon the day . Hout ! woman , cried my father dear , A wedding first I'm sure we'll have ; I warrant us live these hundred years , Nay , may-be , Meg , escape the grave !